



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 






































































































“and my plant has grown up — 


I SEE IT IS ABOUT TO BLOOM. 


Page 132 


HOW BEAUTIFUL IT IS 



THE 

Prison - Flower 


A Romance of the Consulate and Empire 


ROMAINE CALLENDER 



RICHARD G. BADGER 

THE GORHAM PRESS 
BOSTON 


COPYRIGHT 1912 BY RICHARD G. BADGER 


All Rights Reserved 




c 


THE PRISON - FLOWER 
Is partly founded on incidents in a tale from the 
French of X. B. Saintine 


THE GORHAM PRESS, BOSTON, U. S. A. 

©CI.A312657 


The Prison -Flower 






THE PRISON- FLOWER 


CHAPTER I 

I T was the opening of the year 1800, and the birth 
of a new century brought life and safety to a 
whole nation in distress. The tidal wave of 
revolution had engulphed its last victim and 
subsided — the carnival of murder was over, and despair 
was giving place to hope. 

Napoleon Bonaparte, called upon to act as physician 
for the body politic of France, had placed his masterful 
hand on her agitated pulse to diagnose and prescribe 
for her disorders. Houses that had been closed and 
barred for years were now being opened, and confidence 
was at last returning ; for Napoleon was already show- 
ing that great genius for organization and the control 
of affairs that he developed to such a marvelous degree 
in later years. A feeling of safety had become general. 
Shutters, bars and barricades were being removed 
rapidly, and normal conditions were about to prevail. 

On one of the older streets of Paris there stood a fine 
old mansion of noble proportions. A broad flight of 
steps, flanked by oil lamps in ornamental glass lanterns, 
led up to the high and massive double entrance door. 
A stone cornice of large size projected well over the 
top steps, supported by substantial columns rising from 
the highest tread — here widened out to such an extent 
as to give comfortable standing room for twenty peo- 
ple, or more. Stone balconies with iron railings were 
built out under each window, and, high up, the steep 
roof of red pantiles rose from a solid coping of stone 
to its ridge, where it was capped by ornamental tiles 
of such generous proportions that when one became 


5 


6 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


displaced and fell to the street below — as sometimes 
happened — a tremendous crash startled the chance 
passer-by. This explains why on windy days, in many 
an old city, the pedestrian walks for safety in the mid- 
dle of the road, choosing it in preference to the side- 
walk and the dangerous missile that is silently hurled 
from the roof by the angry wind. 

In front of the house was a strong and neatly 
designed iron railing, the rosettes of which were picked 
out in gilt. The house appeared to be empty and 
deserted, for all of the windows were closed up by 
strong, iron shutters, and the front entrance was pro- 
tected by a prison-like gate of thick iron bars, behind 
which substantial iron doors had been placed for addi- 
tional safety. 

It would have been a mistake, however, to have con- 
cluded from its appearance that the house was empty; 
for a closer examination would have shown a thin veil 
of smoke escaping from one of the numerous chimney 
vents in the roof. 

Several artizans in their working blouses of blue had 
just arrived in front of the house, and a wagon had 
drawn up from which they were unloading ladders and 
tools. A group of pedestrians gathered on the side- 
walk near-by to enjoy with a relish the scene of anima 
tion; for it was apparent that shutters and barricades 
were about to be removed from the largest and finest 
house of the neighborhood, and windows that had been 
darkened since the early days of the revolution were 
about to be bathed once more in the peaceful sunlight. 

This house, then, though closed and deserted in the 
early days of the ‘Terror’ and during the following 
years, had been occupied during the past year or two 
by its young owner, Charles Veramont, Count de 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


7 


Charney, the last surviving member of an old and 
noble family. 

The Charney family on account of their conspicuous 
position as prominent members of the hated aristocracy, 
and also because of their great wealth, had been among 
the first to attract the attention of the revolutionary 
tribunal; and both Charney ’s father and mother, the 
Count and Countess de Charney, had fallen victims to 
the guillotine when the young Count was only fifteen 
years old. 

The sole consolation they had in their sad and 
pitiable death was the knowledge that their only child 
had been smuggled out of Paris, a few days previously, 
in a wagon-load of empty barrels. 

The Countess, at her own wish, had been the first to 
die on the scaffold — her hand in that of her husband as 
the fatal knife fell. None of the rough and murderous 
crew of executioners had the heart to snatch away this 
comfort from the dying woman. She passed from the 
world with a prayer on her lips for the safety of her 
son. 

The Count de Charney had calmly met his fate — 
comforted by the thought that he had been able to 
soothe his wife’s last moments, and that she had been 
spared the horror of seeing his execution. He had 
placed his head on the notched plank with a smile of 
pity and disdain for his misguided, rabble executioners. 

Sad to relate, the act of grace by which the Countess 
went first to the knife had been bought and paid for. 
A large sum of money, reserved for a final emergency, 
had been smuggled into the jail, and after stealthy 
negotiation — for spies watched the jailers — the matter 
had been arranged. 

All through the active period of the revolution the 


8 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


young Count had remained with relatives in a distant 
part of France ; but at the time our story opens he had 
been back in Paris for nearly two years, living quietly 
in his house — he, the servants of the household and all 
visitors using the back entrances in order to avoid 
public notice. 

While the workmen are busy removing the shutters 
and gates from the front of the house, let us learn 
something about the inmates. 

In a spacious and comfortably furnished dining-room 
at the back of the house, an aged butler was putting 
the finishing touches to the breakfast table ; for it was 
nine in the morning, and the young master might be 
expected down stairs at any moment. 

Charles, the butler, was a man of undoubted probity 
and superior intelligence. His seventy-six years of age 
sat lightly on his shoulders, for, although his hair was 
white, his tall figure was erect, and he was almost as 
active as in his younger days. His father had been 
butler to Charney’s grand-father, and he himself had 
passed his whole life in the service of the Charne> 
family. He had married late in life, but he had been a 
widower for some years now ; and the only child of his 
marriage, a son who had fought in the revolutionary 
army of France, had died on the field of battle. 

Because of his affectionate nature, shown in his kind 
and benevolent face, and also because of his lonely con- 
dition, he showered on his young master a wealth of 
love and devotion. His whole life was centered on the 
Count; and the recollection of young Charney’s father 
and mother, of their terrible fate — and the deep feeling 
of gratitude he had for the whole family because of 
their lifelong kindness to him — had endowed him with 
superior attributes, and consequently he watched over 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


9 


the young Count with such care and forethought that 
it would be difficult to think of anything more he could 
have done. 

To lessen the loneliness of the Count, and to make 
his meals more cheerful, Charles, the butler, had aban- 
doned the large, central dining-table, with its massive 
silver, and in a roomy and sunny bay-window, over- 
looking the old-fashioned garden, and with a view over 
the high rear wall of the open square beyond, he had 
set a smaller table, and this he decorated with fine linen, 
cut glass and silver, and a profusion of fragrant flowers, 
culled from the garden below. 

He was now standing near the door leading out into 
the main entrance-hall, and just as he heard his mas- 
ter’s footstep at the top of the main stairway he sent 
the warning signal to the kitchen offices, and as the 
Count entered and seated himself on his chair, which 
was drawn out for him with a reverent bow, the trim 
waiting-maids in their lace caps entered, and, showing 
their love and admiration for their young master, 
silently placed the breakfast on the table, Charles hov- 
ering about and directing every movement by expres- 
sive gestures, and, when necessary, an occasional but 
almost inaudible whisper. 

The waiting-maids regretfully retired, envying the 
old butler his privilege of waiting on and talking to the 
young master, and the covers being removed, the Count 
proceeded to eat. 

A stupid servant is always unbearable, while one that 
is skilful is worth his weight in gold. There are ser- 
vants who have waited on the same masters for years, 
and yet — blockheads that they are — they will hand the 
pepper when it is the salt that is wanted; or when you 
are balancing a teaspoonful of coffee and sipping it to 


10 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


see if it has the right degree of sweetness — they will 
pass you the mustard. They never learn — they are 
intolerable ! 

Not so with the old butler, Charles. Hovering with a 
watchful eye he anticipated every want. He knew his 
master so well that he was almost a mind-reader. He 
did not blunder by offering coffee when he saw the cup 
was still half-full, but on the other hand, if other things 
had claimed the Count’s attention, so that the coffee 
had been neglected and was becoming cold — he 
silently abstracted the cup and replaced it with another 
that he had been preparing at his buffet , while still 
attending carefully to other details the while. 

He knew how thick the toast must be to please his 
master, and he understood to a nicety at what moment 
to butter it so that it should be neither soppy nor hard. 
If there was fish to be served, he selected the nicest 
morsel, nearer to the tail than to the head, and instead 
of putting it on the plate at random, he deftly placed 
it a little to one side of the center, to give room for the 
sauce, and then put it down before his master with such 
precision that the fish was on the nearer side of the 
plate. He handed the sauce at the proper moment and 
received it back in such a manner that his master was 
hardly aware how it reached his hand, and how it left it. 

He always had a reserve of one or two extra dishes ; 
as the appetite is a thing liable to sudden change, and 
particularly so if its owner is wealthy. And so, if the 
chief dish was not consumed with the proper relish, 
another suitable dish was quietly substituted, and the 
happy master found himself embarked on another 
course, with fresh knife and fork or spoon — these imple- 
ments having slipped into his hands at the proper 
moment, somehow, without his being aware of it. 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


11 


In an alcove near to his buffet, the butler had an 
ingenious hot-water stand with shelves of varying 
height to give different intensity of heat. Here he kept 
a reserve of plates for the different courses, and here, 
knowing his master’s tastes, he kept one or two relays 
of eggs in case they should be needed. If, therefore, 
the Count’s appetite flagged too early in the progress 
of the meal, an appetizing egg, done to a turn, was in 
front of him in his favorite filigree-silver egg-cup — the 
top having been neatly sliced off with a special knife 
kept in the buffet for this purpose. From all of which 
it will be seen that the Count was well served. 

We have described some of the characteristics of the 
faithful old butler — let us now give attention to those 
of the master. 

Count Charney was tall and handsome but somewhat 
slight in figure. He was naturally graceful, and the 
refined surroundings that had ever been his showed 
clearly in his speech and gesture. His features had 
almost an intellectual cast, and his eyes showed intelli- 
gence and resolution. His every movement was an 
indication of aristocratic lineage. And yet a close 
observer would have perceived an unmistakeable and 
serious blemish in the character of the young Count, 
for it was apparent he was proud and haughty, and a 
nearer acquaintance would surely have revealed him 
as a cold, self-centered and almost selfish man. His 
bringing up in later years was undoubtedly the cause 
of this, for had his noble mother lived to complete his 
education, these characteristics would have been sup- 
pressed or entirely eliminated. 

He had been brought up under a selfish old relative 
in a part of the country remote from refining influences, 
and the only people he had associated with had been 


12 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


those distinctly his mental and social inferiors. As a 
consequence, he had become accustomed to his own 
superiority; he took a narrow view of the world, and 
grew arrogant and overbearing without being aware 
of it. He liked to be entirely by himself, he loved 
quiet, and he disliked noise and excitement. 

About a year previous to this time there had been 
great excitement in the Charney mansion; for a little 
Miss of eleven summers, with blue eyes and dancing 
curls of gold, had arrived with her little bandboxes 
and other belongings, from far-away Brest in the prov- 
ince of Finistere. She was a cousin to the Count, on 
his mother’s side, and she brought a pitiful little note 
appealing to his generosity — “would he care for and 
educate the child, as her father and mother were dead, 
and the relatives with whom she had made her home 
were poor and without means to bring her up properly. 
She is a little angel of sweetness ’ ’ — the note concluded. 
Little Marie — for such she said was her name — ran and 
threw her arms around the Count’s neck, called him 
“cousin Charney” and discharged at him a whole bat- 
tery of fervent kisses. The surprised but pleased 
butler soon found the little girl in his arms, clinging 
to his neck and giving him warm kisses, and as her 
childish fingers fondled his white hair, she said to him 
“you have a kind face, and I like you very much.” The 
waiting-maids, hearing the unusual excitement, came to 
the front and little Marie kissed them all, twice around, 
to their great delight. The kind-hearted and matronly 
housekeeper, a widow who had lost her family of two — 
a boy and a girl — in their childhood, was also greeted 
with effusion and hearty kisses by the little Marie, and, 
as she rose, wiping the tears which forced their way to 
her eyes, she cast a furtive and uneasy glance at the 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


13 


young Count who stood near, embarrassed and per- 
plexed. 

Alas! angels are not always entertained as they 
should he; and after revelling for a day in the soft 
carpets — after going from room to room to admire the 
comfortable furniture and beautiful bric-a-brac — after 
gazing with awe on her frowning ancestors in the pic- 
ture gallery, and after romping with the butterflies in 
the garden and picking the gay posies — in short, after 
making herself at home, poor little Marie was sent back 
again to the far western province, accompanied by a 
polite note declining the responsibility of bringing her 
up, but enclosing a credit on the Count’s bankers to pro- 
vide for her care and education until she became of age. 

The scene the following day, when the fiacre drew 
up at the rear of the house by the garden gate, to take 
the little girl to the diligence, will always be remem- 
bered. Marie positively declined to stir a step unless 
Charles, the butler, would see her off on the diligence. 
Suppressing his tears as well as he could, the childless 
old man received the weeping Marie on his lap and 
tried to comfort her. All the servants had learned to 
love the little girl in the one short day of her presence, 
and they crowded around and embraced her again and 
again with tears of grief at the parting. Sandwiches, 
fruit cake and bon-bons, almost enough to satisfy a 
boarding-school, were heaped up around her, and more 
than one hoard of wages saved was broken into to make 
up a little purse of gold pieces which the conspirators 
had deputed Charles to hang about little Marie’s neck 
as the diligence drove away. 

In response to her childish cry the Count went out 
to see her off. He allowed her to kiss his hand repeat- 
edly, and even suffered himself to be drawn down to 


14 


THE PRISON-FLOWER. 


receive a last, cousinly kiss. “Good bye, cousin Char- 
ney,” she said, choking down her sobs and speaking 
with unnatural gravity, “I am so sorry you do not like 
me. I hope you will some day, for I like you and I 
shall think of you always.” The fiacre was about to 
move off when Marie glanced out at the garden and 
remembered she had forgotten to gather some of the 
lovely flowers. She and Charles hastily alighted, and 
everyone sought the choicest blooms to make a parting 
bouquet. It was strange no one thought of asking the 
Count’s permission; it never occurred to them to do 
such a thing, for it seemed natural to render homage of 
the best to the sweet little visitor about to depart, and 
who was going on her lonely way — to be seen by them 
never again. 

Charney retired to the bay-window above, where he 
looked out on the unwonted scene. Once more the 
little Marie sat in the lap of old Charles, hugging an 
enormous bouquet. A gay little lark circled above 
with joyful song, and poor Marie gazed through her 
tears in wonder that the bird could be happy while she 
was so sad. Tearful farewells were again said, and 
with a parting wave of her hand to her cousin Charney, 
seen at the window, Marie drove off in the fiacre; leav- 
ing desolation behind. 

When the vehicle reached the end of the street, it 
became apparent all the farewells had not been said, 
nor had all the packages been bestowed; for at the cor- 
ner, laden down with parcels, stood Count Charney ’s 
housekeeper, the good Margot, signalling to Charles, 
who was apparently looking for her, for he immediately 
stopped the vehicle, alighted, and helped his associate 
inside. Marie welcomed the newcomer with a cry of 
joy, and abandoning the lap of Charles, though retain- 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


15 


ing his hand, she nestled and wept in Margot’s loving 
arms. 

As they neared the diligence station the driver of the 
fiacre remarked “they will never take all that luggage 
on” — pointing to the load inside of his vehicle; but 
when Charles held up a bright, new coin to full view, 
the driver in gleeful anticipation of the liberal fare he 
knew he would receive, declared that “after all, 
although it seemed considerable for one small passen- 
ger, yet room would surely be found” — and so it 
proved, for in one place or another little Marie’s 
belongings were stowed away in safety, and the willing 
helpers were amply rewarded for their labors. 

We cannot describe the grief of parting, nor how 
Charles deftly hung the little purse of gold around 
Marie’s neck, and, taking one last kiss, nimbly jumped 
off as the horses pulled out and all was put in motion. 
Nor can we adequately describe the cry of grief from 
the little passenger as she saw she was leaving all she 
loved behind. Those sitting near the driver placed 
their hands on his arms as little Marie wildly beckoned 
to Charles and Margot. The diligence stopped — every- 
one gave sympathetic encouragement, and those near 
the side lifted up the old servants for one last farewell 
to cheer the sad heart of the little orphan — a last fond 
kiss was given, and this time the diligence started off 
with a bound, because of the impatient horses, and 
Charles and Margot stood waving their hands again 
and again until their little friend passed out of 
sight * # # * 

And so the sunlight often passes out of man’s life — 
eclipsed by his own folly and selfishness * * * * 

Dear old Charles and kind-hearted Margot were late 
in reaching home. Their fellow-servants crowded 


16 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


around them for news of the last leave-taking, but see- 
ing the great grief in the faces of the old butler and 
housekeeper, they silently withdrew — for neither 
Charles nor Margot could trust themselves to speak. 

At the meal following, poor old Charles had a huski- 
ness and a catch in his voice, his master affected not 
to notice. In the housekeeper’s room the cook and one 
of the parlormaids were endeavoring to soothe poor 
Margot. All the wealth of affection she was ready to 
bestow without stint upon the dear little cousin, must 
now be held back ; and she was crying bitterly over her 
loss and the revived memory of former days. 

Count Charney could have shed sunshine on the lives 
of his faithful servants without lessening their devotion 
to him — in fact, devotion and gratitude would have 
increased. Without knowing it, or rather without 
admitting to himself that he knew it, the Count had 
allowed a golden opportunity for happiness to pass 
from him. If he had done that which an inner voice 
vainly tried to tell him was his duty, he would have 
been saved years of trial and suffering; for with little 
Marie to think of and care for — with an object in life — 
something to love — he would not have sought occupa- 
tion in other and dangerous paths. 

Although the event just related was a year old, it had 
always been in Charney ’s memory, and while the old 
butler spoke freely to his master on certain topics, as is 
a faithful old servant’s privilege with a young master, 
he never dared mention Marie’s name; for he knew the 
pride of the Count. A struggle had been going on in 
Charney ’s mind for some time. Should he send for his 
little cousin, and would she come again after being 
repulsed as she had been? He would not concede he 
was in the wrong, and, as usual, his pride had complete 
mastery. 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


17 


What action the Count eventually might have taken 
is hard to foretell, for Marie’s winning face was ever 
before him, and he was inwardly surprised at the foot- 
hold she had gained in his thoughts in one short day’s 
acquaintance. Unfortunately for him it was now too late 
to reverse his decision, for events of great moment were 
impending. Already the train had been laid, and the 
fuse of impending disaster was about to be lighted. 
His fortune — his liberty — his life — all were in danger ! 
#**###**# 

The breakfast was nearly over. Charney was in deep 
thought and unusually silent. For some reason the old 
butler had in his mind a more than usually vivid pic- 
ture of the fatal morning, years ago, when the Count 
and Countess were dragged off to their execution. He 
wondered if there was anything in premonitions, and 
he determined to speak his mind to his young master 
on a subject about which he had felt uneasy for some 
time. 

4 4 Oh ! Sir, if an old man who loves you may have the 
presumption to speak about such a serious matter, will 
you not give up your connection with the political club 
to which you belong?” 

“Why do you speak of that again, Charles?” 

“I speak of it, sir, because the fate of your father 
and mother, the Count and Countess de Charney, is in 
my mind day and night, and something tells me you 
are in danger — may I speak freely, sir?” 

“Yes, speak!” 

“Well, sir, I am sure that most of the men in your 
club are unfit to associate with you. With the excep- 
tion of your friend, Monsieur Trouville, I trust none 
of them.” 

“Come, Charles, do not go too far.” 


18 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


“Your sainted father and mother charged me to 
watch over you, sir; and I have made it my business 
during the past year to enquire into the character of 
the men in your club. Four of them are men of honor 
— the remainder are not; in fact, grave charges are 
hanging over more than one.” 

“I think you are mistaken, Charles, do not be too 
anxious about me — we cannot always pick our asso- 
ciates in political movements.” 

“That is just it, sir. Why trouble over politics with 
your wealth and position? Oh, Count Charney, my 
young master! My fears make me bold and I must 
speak freely. Be guided by an old man who has seen 
the past with such eyes as to give some knowledge of 
the future — give your formal submission and allegiance 
to the rule of Bonaparte, this very day, and I can see 
happiness for you in the future.” 

“You mention that hated name to me again!” 

“Oh, sir! everyone says he is the power that rules 
France, and will rule for years to come. Again, I say, 
heed the warning of an old man who would give his 
life for you. Give up, at once, the idea of resisting 
Napoleon’s power and might. He will crush you, sir.” 

“Charles! Proceed no further. I know you love 
me, and you are a faithful servant of our family. There 
are things you do not understand. I thank you — and 
now I must leave, for I have much to do before night.” 

“And you persist in going to the meeting to-night, 
sir — I implore you not to go.” 

“Enough, Charles, if any one calls today you can 
say I shall not return until late tonight” — saying 
which, Charney rose and left the room to prepare for 
the business he had in mind. A few moments later he 
left the house. As he passed out he noticed the work- 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


IS 


men had removed all the shutters and bars from the 
front of the house, and he saw them being piled up on 
the wagons that were standing ready to take them 
away. 

He turned and looked up at the house and was 
pleased with the comfortable and homelike appearance 
it now presented, for the workmen had dusted and 
cleaned the outer windows, and servants within were 
busy airing the rooms and arranging the blinds and 
curtains. Unconscious of the fact that he was taking the 
last glimpse of his house he was destined to take for 
many a year — he walked off cheerfully ; for the dangers 
of that day were, as yet, unknown. 


CHAPTER II 


M . DUPONT, Intendant of Police, was a busy 
man, and his office in the Prefecture at 
Paris was a center of activity from early 
morning until late at night. The Intend- 
ant was deservedly a successful man, and his integrity 
was established and unquestioned. He had been tried 
again and again in situations requiring keen judgment, 
discretion, delicacy and tact, and he had never yet 
failed. The First Consul reposed full trust in him; 
and Fouche, the Minister of Police, looked upon him 
as the one man in the service who could be left to act 
on his own responsibility without danger of a blunder. 

It will doubtless be thought strange that the In- 
tendant should stand so high in the regard of two men 
so opposite in character as Napoleon and Fouche. A 
few words, therefore, concerning M. Dupont will not 
be amiss, and particularly so in view of the fact that he 
rose higher and higher in public estimation and was 
promoted from one important position to another by 
Napoleon. 

M. Dupont, then, was a man who had risen through 
his own merit. Married when a young man without 
means or position to a girl equally poor, he had a hard 
struggle, and they had both learned the meaning of 
the word ‘ poverty.’ A man of great energy and un- 
daunted resolution, he had struggled on — trying many 
means to better his condition. If his wife brought him 
neither wealth nor position, she certainly made him a 
happy man — even in their poorest days the home had 
always been the one bright spot on earth for her 
husband — his haven of rest — the place where his worth 


20 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


21 


and ability were enthroned as the bright star of future 
success. 

The revolution, instead of cutting off his head, had 
thrown him by chance into a small clerkship in the 
Palais de Justice. He had worked to acquire knowl- 
edge; he had made himself indispensable. Was any- 
thing required that could not be found — ask Dupont: 
he would know. Was knowledge required of the 
antecedents of a prisoner — ask Dupont; he could tell. 
He had made it his business to work while others 
amused themselves, or slept ; and so, in course of time, 
without friend or influence, he had obtained an im- 
portant position — simply because no other person avail- 
able could compare with him in fitness. 

He had thus gradually reached the responsible posi- 
tion of Intendant; placed there by Napoleon, who 
knew how to choose the right man. 

Though only in early middle age, M. Dupont had be- 
come somewhat grave and almost austere, but all who 
came in contact with him knew his kindness and his 
exact sense of justice. Almost stern and unbending — 
his reproof was feared, but at the same time it was 
known to be deserved, and all had confidence in ap- 
proval and reward for duty well discharged. So that, 
all things considered, he was as popular as it was pos- 
sible for a police magistrate to be. 

It is related that twice he respectfully declined to 
carry out the wishes of the First Consul. In both of 
these matters he was found to be right, later on; and 
his just independence, contrary to the expectation of 
many, seemed to increase Napoleon’s regard for him. 

In addition to the bribes or “presents” offered to 
him by relatives and friends of those in the grasp of the 
law, it is known that Fouche had been indirectly re- 


22 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


sponsible for offering him a heavy pecuniary induce- 
ment for favorable action in a certain cause, — but it 
was useless, for M. Dupont was an honorable man. 

It is only fair to add that on behalf of Fouche it was 
said he had taken this course to test the Intendant’s 
real worth. Be that as it may, it is quite certain that 
from that time the Minister of Police trusted M. 
Dupont implicitly and to such an extent that no matter 
how important the cause was, if it was in the Intend- 
ant’s care, Fouche gave it no further thought — he 
looked upon it as already accomplished and well done. 

And now if we wish to see the machinery of justice 
in motion, without becoming entangled in the wheels 
ourselves, let us take a seat in a remote corner of the 
Intendant’s room in the Prefecture, where, screened 
from observation, we may see all that transpires. 

The room is high and spacious, and at one end it is 
widened by the addition of two vestibules, in one of 
which chairs are placed for officials of the secret service 
who are in waiting here all day long, and far into 
the night, for assignments on public business. At the 
other end of the room is M. Dupont’s desk, piled high 
with official papers. Against the back wall a book- 
case stands, surmounted by a large bust of Napoleon. 
Near to this are shelves of official files. Hanging on 
the wall, between the bookcase and files, are some 
silhouette portraits of noted criminals, and below these 
a wire rack containing numerous smaller portraits, ar- 
ranged at random. Pistols and handcuffs flank the 
rack of portraits. Towards the other end of the room, 
almost facing the vestibule waiting-room, is the desk 
of the Intendant’s old clerk, M. Quillen. Several easy 
chairs are in the center of the room, for visitors, and a 
bulletin board hangs on the side wall having tacked on 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


23 


it the usual miscellaneous notices of crime, with de- 
scriptions of the criminals and rewards for their ap- 
prehension. 

It was morning, and Quillen was busy at his desk — 
his chief not having arrived yet. The old clerk un- 
rolled several handbills telling of new crimes, and pro- 
ceeded to tack them on the bulletin board — first re- 
moving some of the old bills to make room for the new. 
He did not feel equal to work, so early in the morning, 
and he lingered over his task. The bell at the front 
door here rung and Quillen ran quickly to his desk 
and was absorbed in writing when M. Dupont entered. 
He affected not to hear his chief, but when the Intend- 
ant coughed to attract attention, as was his wont on 
first entering, the clerk sprang to his feet with sur- 
prised fervour and greeted his chief with the words, 
4 ‘Good morning to my noble patron.” 

M. Dupont gave a slight wave of his hand in recogni- 
tion, and walking over to the bulletin board he looked 
over it, as he had done almost daily for many a year. 
Going then to his desk he opened his correspondence 
with varying exclamations of satisfaction, such as 
‘Hm! Hm!’— ‘Ha! Ha!’ and ‘Ho! Ho!’ He had 
just found something requiring immediate attention, 
for passing out of the room, to go over to the Ministry, 
he warned Quillen to detain callers until he returned. 
Quillen went to his chief’s desk and was looking 
through his correspondence when the bell rang again. 
He quickly regained his own desk and was busy writing 
when a man entered who would have attracted atten- 
tion anywhere by his nervons walk and peculiar actions, 
for he glided in with a soft and cat-like tread, casting 
quick and furtive glances in every direction as if taking 
in every detail of the room and its contents. From 


24 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


the close inspection to which the visitor subjected the 
room it might have been supposed he was there for the 
first time, or, if he had been there before, that he was 
looking for something he could not find. In either case 
such a surmise would have been wrong — the new-comer 
had been in the Prefecture, daily, for many a year, and 
he was not looking for something he could not find. 

“Good morning, Master Renardeau,” said the old 
clerk, looking up from his desk, “How goes the game 
of fox and geese ?” 

“Badly! Badly! Master Scribbler,” was the de- 
spondent reply, and going over to the side of the room 
he carefully made his daily reading of that thermometer 
of crime — the police bulletin board. The examination 
did not appear to be satisfactory, or Renardeau had 
something on his mind, for Quillen, the old clerk, 
noticed him pacing back and forward with his hands 
behind his back, his eyes turned towards the floor. He 
wandered into the vestibule, fidgeting and ill-at-ease, and 
finally settled down into a quick walk as he uncon- 
sciously circled round and round the table and chairs 
standing in the center. 

He was evidently no stranger to Quillen, for, beyond 
an occasional glance from the old clerk, the strange 
actions of Renardeau excited no remark. 

Who is this man and why should he act so strangely 
in a public place? 

He is the magistrate’s right-hand man, the ablest of 
all the secret service officials in Paris, and therefore in 
France, and he is known far and wide as the ‘ ‘ fox. ’ ’ 

He knows every corner of the city, has years of experi- 
ence, is a natural comedian and master of disguises, has 
superior intelligence, a superb memory, and above all, 
he had been successful in every case he undertook, with- 
out one failure to detract from his brilliant record. 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


25 


He is respected by his superiors, his associates regard 
him with a loving sort of envy, and those below him in 
the department look up to him with admiration and 
wonder. 

Some of this reputation was naturally derived from 
his association with a man of such sagacity as M. Dupont 
undoubtedly was ; and it must not be forgotten that the 
magistrate’s high reputation was partly due to the 
ability of his able lieutenant. Together they made a 
powerful combination, the magistrate to direct and the 
detective to search and follow clues. 

It followed that Renardeau was placed only on cases 
of the greatest importance. He was the heavy gun of 
the service, kept in reserve — the old guard ready to 
turn defeat into victory when the younger men were 
baffled and about to give up. 

In spite of his constant association with crime, this 
man had a heart — he was not a machine — for the em- 
ployees and subordinates, numbering hundreds, loved 
him for the invariable kindness with which he treated 
them. So fearless was this quiet man in the execution 
of his duties that his life had been in grave peril, more 
than once. For fear of losing his now indispensable 
services, he had been asked again and again to be less 
daring — to use his subordinates more freely while he 
remained the directing head, as should always be the 
plan of a good general. Unknown to him, instructions 
had been given to his associates and subordinates to 
guard him and exercise vigilance on his behalf without 
making it known to him. This protection at a distance — 
for it was hard to follow the “fox” when he started off 
on a clue — had been exercised now for some time, and 
if once in a while he unexpectedly met his confreres , who 
in their zeal had followed him up too closely, the quick 


26 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


twinkle of his eye escaped their notice, and they cher- 
ished the delusion that he thought their meeting was 
accidental. 

Returning, then, to the Prefecture — the old clerk at 
last looked up and remarked, “You have something on 
your mind, Master Renardeau.” 

Renardeau abruptly turned and walked to Quillen’s 
desk, picking up his cap from the table as he went. 
“Quillen, I have always esteemed you for your high 
character and amiable manners, ’ ’ — here Renardeau 
looked in his hat for inspiration. He was more serious 
than usual this morning, and his hat went spinning 
round and round between his hands. 

The amiable Quillen was pleased with the compliment ; 
but suddenly his expression changed, and he remarked 
to himself in an undertone, ‘ ‘ Oh, Lord ! He is going to 
ask me for something.’ ’ 

1 1 Quillen, I want you to do something for me. ’ ’ 

“I knew it,” murmured the old clerk as he turned 
aside in despair. 

‘ ‘ I want you to take down the Red-House bulletin. ’ ’ 
Quillen was greatly relieved. “Is that all?” he 
replied; then considering further, he added — “that bul- 
letin has decorated our board for eight years — why do 
you want me to remove it ? ” 

“You have just stated the reason — it has been there 
too long — I cannot bear to look at it. ’ ’ 

“Why should it suddenly offend you this morning?” 
asked the old clerk; then he added mentally to himself, 
“there is something behind this.” 

“By the bye, Quillen, what a warbler that little girl 
of yours is — here is something towards her singing les- 
sons” — and Renardeau placed a gold coin in the hand 
of the delighted old man. His clerkship was poorly paid. 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


27 


He loved his little girl passionately. Living alone, as 
they did, they were all-in-all to each other, and this coin 
was acceptable. So acceptable, in fact, that a tear started 
to Quillen ’s eye ; and Renardeau, seeing it, quietly placed 
a second coin with the other, quite unnoticed by the 
recipient, who had started off on his favorite train of 
thought — the one passion of his life since the mother 
died — his clever little girl in the humble little home, 
every detail of which was now vividly before him. To 
do Renardeau justice, his gift was no bribe. He had 
done the same thing before in recognition of little ser- 
vices from Quillen, and he even knew the little daughter 
quite well. 

Quillen pocketed the coins with a look of surprise as 
he saw two where one had been, and he became quite 
cheerful as he exclaimed ; ‘ ‘ Oh ! Ho ! a favor — but why 
not? No harm can come of it, for the Red-House case 
is old and mouldy — here goes” — saying which he went 
and tore off the notice from the board. He had no 
sooner done so when the front door bell was heard ring- 
ing, and he quickly regained his seat at his desk while 
Renardeau remained standing near the bulletin board, 
where he had gone when the old clerk tore down the 
objectionable bulletin. 

As this bulletin was closely connected with the events 
we are describing, some allusion to it will now be made. 
This bulletin, then, told a plain tale of murder, and it 
offered a substantial reward, ten thousand francs, for 
the apprehension of the criminal ; one Chocquette. The 
facts were briefly these. A distinguished man, promi- 
nent in the social and political world towards the end 
of the reign of the unfortunate martyr, Louis XYI, had 
been inveigled to the Red-House Inn on the outskirts 
of Paris, and there a previously-arranged quarrel had 


28 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


been thrust upon him by the man Chocquette, who, act- 
ing under instructions, had drawn his sword and slain 
the unoffending man. 

The fact that the man thus attacked wore a sword, 
as was then customary, and drew it in self-defense, 
was no mitigation of the murder, for it developed that 
Chocquette was really a professional swordsman, or 
bravo, while his victim merely wore a sword in defer- 
ence to the custom of the day, even then dying out, and 
he was entirely unskilled in its use as a weapon. When 
the “hue and cry” had been raised it was found that 
Chocquette had disappeared, leaving no trace behind 
him. The keeper of the Red-House Inn had been duly 
arrested for complicity in the murder, but no direct 
evidence against him had been forthcoming. 

M. Dupont at that time had not reached the position 
he now held, and Renardeau was out of the city on 
business connected with the department he served. As 
soon as he had returned, the magistrate in charge at 
that time had assigned him to the celebrated case. 
Although Renardeau felt he had been called in too late, 
he made it his business to make a searching investiga- 
tion of all the facts, and he made a thorough study of 
the character and antecedents of Picot, the innkeeper 
of the Red-House. After a long consultation with 
Renardeau, the magistrate had taken his advice and 
Picot had been discharged. 

The public had looked upon this as a complete ac- 
quittal, and a confession that the police were entirely 
at fault. 

Those near the department and familiar with police 
procedure held the belief that Renardeau had evidence 
enough to obtain a conviction and moderate punish- 
ment for the innkeeper, but that he chose the course 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


29 


just described in order to lead Picot to believe he was 
unsuspected. It was naturally concluded the able 
detective was laying a trap, and that with Picot for 
bait he hoped some day to catch Chocquette. Picot 
was at first joyful over his release from arrest, but his 
joy turned quickly into savage denunciation of the 
police for detaining him. Having relieved his feelings 
in this way, Picot had left the Conciergerie prison in 
the firm belief that this was the last of the matter. In 
this he was mistaken, for Renardeau had other ideas — 
he was watching Picot with such skill that the inn- 
keeper never suspected it, and although this had been 
going on for eight years, the tenacious detective had 
never despaired, and he still hoped. 

The bell at the outer door of the Prefecture had just 
ceased ringing when M. Dupont returned from the short 
visit he had made at the office of the Minister of Police. 
He waved his hand in acknowledgment of Renardeau ’s 
respectful salute, and resumed his seat at his desk. 
Looking up after making one or two notes on the 
papers before him, he noticed that his lieutenant was 
gazing abstractedly at the bulletin board. 

“You still have your mind on the Chocquette reward, 
I see. Is it that you are studying so intently, Renard- 
eau?” 

The detective hesitated as he replied, “Well, no 
patron, it is not that.” 

“Then what case is it?” asked the magistrate as he 
rose and joined Renardeau at the bulletin board. 

The question remained unanswered, for the detective 
was at a loss and did not know how to reply. Something 
appeared to trouble him greatly and the magistrate soon 
saw it. Looking over Renardeau ’s shoulder at the board 
he noticed the absence of the Chocquette bulletin. 


30 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


“Why, where is the Chocquette bulletin ?” he ex- 
claimed. “It was here this morning, for I read it, as I 
usually do, on first entering.” M. Dupont seated him- 
self at his desk. “Quillen,” he called to his clerk. 
Hearing this, Renardeau drew out a note-book and 
became absorbed in its contents, while the old clerk 
reluctantly rose, and, bracing himself, advanced slowly. 
“Where is the Red-House bulletin?” the magistrate 
continued. 

Poor old Quillen was at a loss, and he turned to the 
bulletin board — looked at it with assumed surprise and 
placed his hand on the vacant place. “Most noble 
patron,” the old man replied, “it was here” — and his 
hand once more indicated the place. 

“I am asking you where it is, not where it was,” M. 
Dupont sternly remarked. 

“Noble patron it is not here.” 

“Iam aware of that,” dryly retorted the magistrate — 
“now where is it?” 

“It is not here,” the old man repeated helplessly, 
again feeling the place. M. Dupont began to lose 
patience, he spoke angrily — “You removed it, why do 
you not say so at once?” 

“My patron, I had to — make room — for another, and 
I thought it had been up long enough. ’ ’ 

While the magistrate had been questioning, he had 
observed Quillen’s confusion. He had also noticed his 
appealing glance towards Renardeau when the old clerk 
thought that he, M. Dupont, was looking down at the 
papers on his desk. He had also noticed Renardeau ’s 
unusual absorption while he had been speaking. He 
therefore drew the natural inference that both were con- 
cerned, and that something more than the mere removal 
of a bulletin was involved. He resumed his questioning 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


31 


in calm tones as if the matter were of little consequence. 
“Then you were just in the act of putting up a fresh 
bulletin ? ’ ’ 

So peaceful and calm were the magistrate ’s words that 
even Renardeau, deceived, put his note-book in his pocket 
and looked around cheerfully, while Quillen concluded 
the little squall was over and replied, “Yes, of course, 
that was it patron.” 

“Then where is the new bulletin you were just about 
to put up ? ” 

The old clerk had a habit of spinning around once or 
twice, like a top, when completely taken by surprise. 
Consequently he went through this evolution under the 
eye of the magistrate, who fully understood its meaning. 
The old man looked distractedly on his desk and on the 
floor, searching for what he knew full well he could not 
find. He noticed that M. Dupont was apparently 
absorbed in his papers, and he walked over to Renardeau, 
to whisper to him imploringly to help him in his trouble. 
The keen eye of the detective told its owner that the 
magistrate had him under observation. He turned his 
back on poor old Quillen, while trying to find a way out 
of the difficulty; and the old man, looking about help- 
lessly, sought refuge at his own desk. 

M. Dupont now turned his attention to the detective, 
in his effort to get at the truth. “You were to be here 
at nine this morning, M. Renardeau!” 

The detective was much relieved. “Patron, I was 
here — I saw you crossing to the Ministry as I entered.” 

“Then you have been here ever since, and you know 
about the removal of the bulletin. I am waiting for 
your explanation,” the magistrate replied. 

This unexpected turn staggered both culprits. Both 
were silent, and Quillen again went distractedly to the 
bulletin board and put his hand on the vacant place. 


32 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


“Quillen, what have you to say?” M. Dupont re- 
marked sternly. 

The old clerk replied as if in a dream, again indi- 
cating the vacant place, “It is not here.” 

“Sit down, you blockhead!” angrily replied the 
magistrate; and poor old Quillen, giving a sigh, went 
over to his desk and plunged for relief into his writing. 

“Renardeau,” continued M. Dupont, 4 4 you caused 
the removal of the bulletin — explain without prevarica- 
tion. ’ ’ 

“I asked M. Quillen to remove it,” the detective 
replied — while the old clerk looked up, pleased, and 
rubbed his hands together with satisfaction. “I asked 
him to remove it because. ...” 

The magistrate repeated soothingly and seductively, 
“you asked him to remove it, because. ...” 

“Patron, I asked him to remove it because it had 
been there so long” — and after some hesitation, he 
added, “it annoyed me.” 

The magistrate was now angry at such prevarica- 
tion, and he deemed the matter of sufficient importance 
to proceed with extreme measures so as not to lose 
more time. He remarked dryly, “I see you both want 
me to place you under arrest.” 

Poor Renardeau showed great agitation and distress, 
and the trembling old clerk flattened himself at his 
desk. There was no help for it, and so the detective 
turned and addressed his superior, for he saw there 
was now only one proper course to follow. 

“Patron, I will make a clean breast of it and confess 
my fault. Instead of calling me the ‘Fox,’ after this 
I shall be called the ‘Owl’, the ‘Bat’, or the ‘Tortoise’ 
— the man who has been in your mind and mine for 
the last eight years, the notorious duellist, the pro- 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


33 


fessional bravo, the murderer of the Red-House, 
Chocquette, is in Paris.” 

The magistrate and his clerk leaped up from their 
desks simultaneously. Old Quillen turned around twice 
and subsided helplessly at his desk — he saw trouble 
ahead. M. Dupont joined Renardeau and addressed 
him eagerly. 1 

“Who saw Chocquette, and is there no mistake?” 

The detective dropped his head, in distress, and 
pulled his cap violently, but made no reply. 

“What!” said the magistrate, “you saw him and let 
him slip through your fingers.” He then added with 
ferocity, “You are no detective — you are a dolt, a fool, 
an imbecile ! And to think that I saw talent in you — I 
should have given this case to the ‘Wolf’, or the 
‘Weasel’; they would have nailed their man on the 
spot.” 

Poor Renardeau was staggered, he spoke slowly, 
“The case is old — I had no warrant, and the devil dis- 
appeared while I was considering how to nab him.” 

“Never consider,” the magistrate retorted; “and as 
for warrants, bring your man here and the warrant can 
come later.” M. Dupont went to his desk and struck 
his bell. To the attendant who entered he ordered, 
“Send in Lupin and Belette.” 

Now Lupin and Belette were colleagues of Ren- 
ardeau ’s and they were far below him in standing, for 
they had never yet been assigned to important cases 
such as were Renardeau ’s exclusive work. The door 
here opened to admit the two detectives, and they ad- 
vanced and bowed respectfully to the magistrate and 
almost equally so to the admired Renardeau. 

“Put your hats on the table and come here,” re- 
marked M. Dupont. Both men complied. The magis- 


34 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


trate addressed them abruptly — “Chocquette is in 
Paris ! ’ ’ 

Lupin and Belette, obeying the man-hunter’s in- 
stinct, ran to the table, seized their hats, and were 
about to disappear through the door when they were 
arrested by the words, “Stay! you have not heard all. ,, 
They replaced their hats and rejoined M. Dupont, who 
resumed. 

“He was seen and recognized by one of your able 
confreres. You want to know who is the fortunate 
man? You can guess correctly the first time, for he is 
the quickest man in the service — let me introduce him,” 
the magistrate added with ceremony, “Renardeau, the 
‘fox’;” and turning to Lupin and Belette, M. Dupont 
added, “you may congratulate your colleague, he is 
considering what he will do with the reward.” 

Poor Renardeau was obliged to swallow this bitter 
dose; but the magistrate had not finished — there was 
more to follow. 

“Lucky man,” exclaimed the admiring Lupin. 

“This will crown your reputation,” added Belette. 

“Now you can buy that house and garden,” Lupin 
remarked; and Belette cried, “Tell us the particu- 
lars.” 

Renardeau made no sign of answering, and the 
magistrate obligingly answered for him. 

“You can see he is too modest to brag about it. 
Well, listen and you shall hear. The murderer though 
seen and recognized was not captured ; he simply 
walked off.” 

Had the room collapsed on their heads, Lupin and 
Belette could not have shown more astonishment. 
After a look at Renardeau to confirm the astonishing 
news, Lupin ejaculated “gone!” 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


35 


There was a painful pause, and Belette, his profes- 
sional ambition aroused, exclaimed, “Then we are to 
go on the case?” 

“Not so fast,” replied the Intendant, “in justice to 
M. Renardeau I must hear what he has to say in ex- 
tenuation, before I decide.” 

“Patron,” replied the detective, “there is no exten- 
uation — I acted like a dreamer and a fool. I should 
have seized him at all hazards and brought him here — 
dead or alive.” 

“Come, there is hope,” observed the magistrate, 
“you confess your fault.” Then, relenting somewhat, 
he added, “We can all make mistakes.” 

“And, patron,” continued the detective, “I should 
have explained that just as I recognized him he was 
joined by the man Picot, who was tried for complicity 
in the murder, eight years ago, and discharged for 
want of evidence.” 

“Oh! Oh! Why did you not say so before? This 
is important, for it was in the house of this same Picot 
that the crime was committed. These two men meet 
again in Paris. Who knows but that another crime, 
equally startling, is on foot. Come, Renardeau,” added 
the magistrate, with decision, “no one knows more of 
this case than you. Redeem your ill fortune by instant 
activity. Take your own measures, choose all the help 
you need. Have your men within call, wherever you 
go, and do not rest until you find this dangerous man. 
To the reward offered by the Government I add, pri- 
vately, another thousand francs. Something tells me 
it is today or never; for this man will disappear as 
suddenly as he did before. Begone! and may success 
be yours. I am weary of blame and responsibility in 
this case.” 


36 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


The magistrate placed his hand encouragingly on 
Renardeau’s shoulder and accompanied him to the 
door. 

Renardeau started off eagerly, and full of renewed 
hope, to make immediate plans, and marshal his forces 
for the capture of Chocquette. 


CHAPTER III. 


R ENARDEAU had not gone more than a few 
moments when the magistrate, who was 
now standing at the window looking out 
on the street, turned to the discouraged 
Lupin and Belette and remarked, “Do not be disap- 
pointed, for if I am not mistaken, here is work for you — 
I see the private courier of our great and good Consul 
approaching.” 

The detectives, again hopeful and expectant, respect- 
fully withdrew into the waiting room ; and the ringing 
of the bell was followed by the entrance of M. Yoyarde, 
the trusted courier and special messenger of Napoleon, 
and who, it may be added, acted in that capacity all 
through the Consulate and Empire, going in every 
direction with important despatches, and serving his 
master with fidelity and intelligence of a high order. 

“Good morning, M. Dupont,” said Yoyarde as he 
entered, “health and success to you.” 

“Thank you, Yoyarde, you have my best wishes — 
how is our great master today?” 

“Well, and alert as ever in the public good,” was the 
reply. “Here is a despatch requiring immediate atten- 
tion, and I was to impress on you the need for speedy 
action.” 

“Do not fear. When the Consul speaks, his com- 
mands are obeyed instantly and to the fullest extent/ ’ 
“Good! Would that all in the public service were 
equally zealous and able. Farewell! I shall report 
your words to the Consul.” 

M. Dupont waved his hand graciously as the courier 
left, and he immediately broke the seal of the despatch. 


37 


38 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


It caused him some surprise, for it read as follows: 
“Order to arrest with skill and without violence the 
person of Charles Veramont, Count de Charney, and to 
deport him to the prison-fortress of Fenestrelle in Pied- 
mont.” 

“Poor Charney/’ the magistrate mused, “the last 
member of one of our oldest and most honorable fami- 
lies. A proud, reserved and self-loving man, and yet, 
I could swear, a man who would hurt no one. But the 
Consul expects immediate action, and now to carry out 
his commands.” Turning to his clerk, he said, 
“Quillen! Look up the record, occupation and habits 
of Count de Charney, so that our police may know 
where to find him. ’ ’ 

The old clerk went to the files and after a short 
search succeeded in finding the information required. 
It was characteristic of M. Dupont that he had data 
relating to every one of consequence, and, like every- 
thing he controlled, it was in its proper place, ready 
for some such emergency as this. Quillen put a memo- 
randum of the facts required upon the magistrate’s 
desk, and M. Dupont rang his bell for the office attend- 
ant ; but at the moment he did so the attendant entered 
and handed him a letter. The magistrate read the 
envelope which was marked — “Department of Public 
Safety, — Immediate” — and quickly opening the letter 
he read the contents. “What is this,” he remarked 
aloud, “anonymous denunciation of Count Charney.” 
Rising and going towards the waiting detectives, who 
had been eagerly watching his movements, he read 
aloud to them: “An unknown friend of the Count de 
Charney , who prefers to see him safe in jail rather than 
have him assassinated by a professional swordsman , takes 
this opportunity of informing the Department that ‘Le 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


39 


Circle Patriotique’ meets tonight at 8 o’clock. Do not 
fall to heed this warning — my prayer is for the Count’s 
safety.” 

Belette rose and advanced to the magistrate with the 
remark, “A spiteful and deceitful denunciation” — and 
Lupin added, ‘ ‘ a curious friend, this ! ’ ’ 

“I am not so sure,” replied M. Dupont, “ there is 
more in this than meets the eye.” He again turned 
hastily to Quillen and asked him to look up the names 
and addresses of those in ( Le Cercle Patriotique,’ and 
he added, “Let me know also their place of meeting.” 
The old clerk, interrupted in his writing, bowed 
acquiescence, and with his pen between his teeth again 
consulted the file. 

“This may be either friend or foe,” resumed the 
magistrate, “but he is decidedly our friend, for he gives 
us a valuable clue. I must consider a moment.” He 
went and sat at his desk while the detectives again 
seated themselves to await the assignment on active 
duty for which they had longed, and which they now 
knew was theirs. As Quillen was returning to his own 
desk, with a file under his arm, a ring was again heard 
at the front, and, shortly after, the attendant brought 
in a card and handed it to the magistrate at his desk. 

M. Dupont read the card several times. “Henri 
Trouville,” he remarked, holding the card up between 
his fingers, “who can he be? — I seem to remember the 
name and yet I cannot recall under what circumstances. 
I am really too busy to see any one at present,” he said 
to the attendant. 

Quillen here spoke from his desk, “Henri Trouville, a 
member of ( Le Cercle Patriotique.’ ” 

“Ah! Now I remember,” exclaimed M. Dupont. 
“Show him in,” he added to the attendant who stood 
waiting. 


40 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


The attendant left, and shortly after M. Trouville 
entered and greeted the magistrate with a courteous 
“good morning. ” 

The magistrate responded somewhat coldly, “Good 
morning, M. Trouville — although you find me busy, I 
seize the time to despatch the business you bring me.” 
He motioned the visitor to a chair, and both sat. 

M. Trouville lost no time, for he replied at once, “I 
appreciate this, and I come right to the point. Have 
you received information that a murder is to be com- 
mitted in Paris tonight?” 

M. Dupont was hardly prepared for such an extra- 
ordinary question, so near his uppermost thoughts. 

Lupin and Belette, surprised at such an unexpected 
question, had risen and were bending eagerly forward, 
not knowing what to expect next. As for Quillen, he 
had risen excitedly and turned twice around in his 
customary manner before resuming his seat ; while the 
magistrate himself looked askance at the strange visitor 
and edged away his chair as he did so. 

Quillen saw this movement of his chief. Jumping to 
the conclusion that something was wrong, he made his 
way stealthily to the back of the room, and seizing one 
of the pistols and a pair of handcuffs, he cocked the 
loaded weapon and clumsily covered the visitor; his 
shaking hand causing the weapon to point alternately 
at the magistrate and Trouville, while with his left hand 
he held up the handcuffs, motioning the while to attract 
the attention of Lupin and Belette. The magistrate 
and his visitor were both unconscious of the danger 
menacing them from behind, and the detectives were 
too much absorbed to notice the pantomime of the old 
clerk. 

M. Dupont fixed his stern eye on his visitor, and 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


41 


spoke, “Before I can reply, M’sieu, it will be necessary 
for yon to make clear yonr right to ask this question.” 

Trouville at once proceeded: “Yesterday,” he said, 
“I sent an anonymous letter to the Department of 
Public Safety, announcing that the life of Count Char- 
ney was in danger. Ever since sending it I have had 
such anguish of mind, wondering if the letter would 
receive attention in time, that at last I decided to come 
and see you personally to tell how urgent the matter is.” 

Lupin and Belette were now profoundly interested, 
the magistrate was deep in thought, while Quillen, see- 
ing that he had been unduly alarmed, replaced the pis- 
tol and handcuffs and quietly made his way back to 
his desk. 

“The Count de Charney is your friend?” the magis- 
trate at last enquired. 

“He is indeed, M’sieu.” 

“Then how comes it that you did not warn him 
privately, instead of proceeding to cause his arrest by 
an anonymous denunciation. Admit at once that you 
are paying off an old grudge.” 

“You are wrong, M. Dupont, I did warn him, but he 
persists in going tonight in spite of my warning. I 
called at his house this morning to warn him again. 
I was told he had left and that he would not return 
until near midnight.” 

“But I do not understand who seeks his life,” said 
the magistrate, “and what is the motive?” 

“There are three members of ‘Le Cercle,’ ” the vis- 
itor replied, “Lecaron, Rollin and Picot — ” 

“What,” eagerly interrupted the magistrate, “Picot? 
I begin to understand now.” 

“Well, these three, dissatisfied because Count Char- 
ney will not lead them in acts of violence against the 


42 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


Consul, have planned to depose the Count; but know- 
ing his courage and determination, and fearing the con- 
sequences, they have secretly hired a noted professional 
swordsman, one Laforte, to join ‘ Le Cercle’ tonight, 
pick a quarrel with Charney and thus get rid of him. ’ * 

“Ah! What villainy! But you are a member of this 
‘Cercle,’ are you not?” 

“Until yesterday I was. Today I am not.” 

The magistrate was still a little doubtful of his 
ground and he spoke further, “Of course you expect 
some reward and my promise of immunity from arrest, 
for this and other information you will give me.” 

“I have no information to give, other than what is 
necessary to save the life of my friend, Count Charney. 
As for immunity, I will not accept it. I saw it was 
impossible to save the Count without exposing his con- 
nection with ‘Le Cercle,’ and if Charney is imprisoned, 
I ask to share his imprisonment.” 

Lupin and Belette whispered eagerly to each other, 
the magistrate fell into a brief reverie, and Quillen, 
catching the eyes of the detectives for a moment, tapped 
his forehead knowingly, pointed to Trouville and 
shrugged his shoulders to express his doubts of the 
visitor’s sanity. 

The magistrate abandoned his reverie ; for there was 
need of immediate action. He turned to Trouville, 
grasped his hand and spoke cordially. “Come; after 
this I will trust you implicitly. Your statement that 
Charney is to be deposed because he will not lead in 
violent acts against the Consul, pleases me greatly, for 
I, too, know Charney, and I shall take care that our 
good and wise Consul hears this. But my duty is 
before me, and I must put everything in motion to find 
the Count before this fiendish plot is consummated. If 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


43 


I fail,” he feelingly continued — “but I must not fail,” 
and as he rose he added, “the Consul would never for- 
give me Where is the meeting-place tonight, M. 

Trouville ? ’ ’ 

“I do not know,” replied Trouville, as the old clerk 
handed a memorandum to his chief. 

“You do not know!” the magistrate repeated in 
tones of intense disappointment. 

There was an awkward silence until Trouville 
resumed — “No, for I fear I am suspected by Lecaron, 
Rollin and Picot, and I am certain they will notify the 
members to meet tonight at some place unknown to 
me.” 

The magistrate referred to the memorandum in his 
hand and remarked, “It was the turn of de Barsac to 
have the meeting at his house.” 

“What, M’sieu, you know that?” exclaimed Trou- 
ville with astonishment ! 

“Yes,” quietly rejoined the magistrate, “It is the 
business of the Consul’s police to know everything.” 

Here Quillen put his hands together and bowed in 
response to imaginary applause, while Lupin and 
Belette leaned back and smiled complacently — acknowl- 
edging the compliment. 

“What a pity poor Renardeau left before we received 
this information,” continued M. Dupont, “he will be 
watching de Barsac ’s house — miles away from the scene 
of action, perhaps. His luck is against him. Poor 
fellow ! ’ ’ 

Lupin and Belette did not display much sorrow. On 
the contrary they congratulated each other on their 
own good luck. 

The magistrate resumed with animation, “But no 
time must be lost. I think I understand the matter 


44 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


thoroughly, and unless I am completely at fault, Picot 
is the mainspring of this plot.” Addressing Lupin and 
Belette, who came eagerly to meet him, he continued, 
'‘Find Picot before night. Do not lose sight of him, 
and you have your hands on the plotters. Shadow 
every member of ‘Le Cercle’ and see where they go 
tonight. Take all proper measures — call for all the 
assistance you need. Within an hour you shall have 
twenty, fifty, yes, a hundred secret service officers to 
search where you will. Lay your plans well and spare 
no expense — it is for the good of the state, and at the 
head of the state is a man who rewards liberally. If 
ever you used wisdom, skill, cunning — use it now.” 

Lupin and Belette were greatly excited, and they 
were straining, like dogs in the leash, eager to get off. 

“Belette,” instructed the magistrate, “you are to 
arrest Charney — he will offer no resistance to the law. 
No harm must befall him — such is the Consul’s com- 
mand. Repeat with me, Quillen,” 

addressing the clerk, “take this down, and have Lupin 
and Belette initial your office copy, — the Consul com- 
mands that no harm shall befall Count Charney.” 

Belette had repeated the words after his chief and 
he went over to Quillen’s desk to initial the office copy 
of his instructions, of which he received a duplicate. 

“M. Trouville, ” continued the magistrate, “I shall 
rely upon you to accompany Belette and render all the 
assistance you can. The chase may take him where 
your knowledge of l Le Cercle ’ may be very useful. 
Lupin, you are to capture the villainous Picot — alive, 
if possible. Close on him at sight. If he resists, you 
know how to act. You shall each have a military 
detachment at your orders. When you find the place 
of meeting, lay your net — let all who will go in, then 
arrest every inmate. Not one must escape!” 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


45 


Lupin went eagerly to the old clerk’s desk and 
initialed the office draft of instructions. He then 
rejoined his colleague to receive M. Dupont’s final 
commands. 

“See that you do your work well,” the magistrate 
went on in conclusion, showing some emotion as he did 
so, — “your patron will never hold up his head again 
if you fail. I shall remain here until midnight, or later, 
to receive your report. You are face to face with pro- 
motion and reward. Success! Away with you!” he 
cried. 

The detectives seized their hats and eagerly ran out 
of the room. It was easy to see they were in for a 
field-day, and they started out full of hope, with the 
determination to spare no effort to win success in the 
struggle that lay before them. 


CHAPTER IV 


HE day that had opened so busily at the Pre- 
fecture was ended, and night had set in. 
The sputtering oil lamps on the street cor- 
ners, barely visible under favorable condi- 
tions, were now totally obscured by a blinding storm 
of sleet. The few vehicles that were out plying their 
trade made slow progress, for the wind was blowing 
with great violence, and at times it gathered such 
force and came in such gusts that it was almost impos- 
sible to make head against it, and drivers and horses 
alike were glad when they were able to turn into the 
by-streets to escape the searching blast. Pedestrians 
compelled to venture out on such a night were obliged 
to take refuge in porches and doorways as each angry 
burst of wind almost swept them off their feet, nor 
could they hope to make further progress except during 
the lulls that succeeded each furious outburst of the 
wintry tempest. 

While the storm was thus raging, a vehicle turned 
into the wide street on which Count Charney’s house 
stood, and the driver, wet and miserable, urged his 
horse to face the elements after narrowly escaping 
disaster at the corner; for his vehicle had been almost 
overturned as it met the full force of the wind. The 
horse had covered many miles, and the poor, faithful 
animal was ready to drop from exhaustion. The 
driver, too, was cold and famished; but he had work 
before him. 

He had driven his passenger before — many a time — 
and he knew that for this night’s work he would 
receive enough to compensate him for a month of ordi- 



46 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


47 


nary toil. After struggling on for some distance the 
horse refused to go any further. Fortunately they 
were near the place they sought, so the undaunted 
driver got down and pulled and coaxed the tired ani- 
mal until they reached the Charney mansion — for such 
was their destination. The passenger stepped out and 
braved the storm without hesitation, and as he held 
to the door for support he addressed the driver, “Do 
not fail me — the stable is quite near. Remember ! A 
light fiacre and two fresh horses; I shall expect you 
back in twenty minutes at the most.” 

“All right, sir; have no fear. I’ll be back,” and 
jumping on his seat the driver turned his willing horse 
in the opposite direction, and, aided by the wind, 
rapidly disappeared. 

The visitor made his way up to the front door, helped 
by the side railing to which he clung as he mounted 
the steps. It was evident he was expected, for as he 
reached the door it opened, before he had time to ring, 
and as he quickly stepped in, Renardeau — for it was 
he — greeted the waiting Charles and together they 
passed quickly into the library. 

Now this was Renardeau ’s third call at the Charney 
mansion that day. Had his luck deserted him, and 
was he on a wrong clue? 

He had left the Prefecture early in the morning, 
before the order for Charney ’s arrest had arrived, and 
he had not heard the important detail of Picot ’s plan in 
connection with the seditious club. M. Dupont had 
expressed his regret that Renardeau had left before 
this information had been received, and he had said, 
“Poor fellow, his luck is against him.” 

In this the magistrate was mistaken, for Renardeau ’s 
luck was skill and hard work. He was as clever and 


48 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


indefatigable as ever, and today he had surpassed him- 
self in the results he had accomplished. 

M. Dupont, Lupin and Belette had, all three, under- 
estimated the worth of the chief detective. They did 
not know that he had frequently worked more than 
twenty hours continuously, on an important clue, with- 
out thought of rest or refreshment. Nor did they know 
the nature and scope of his investigations relating to 
the character of the man Picot. 

Renardeau knew all about ‘Le Cercle Patriotique / 
for was not Picot a member of it? He knew the names 
and addresses of all in the club, and, without knowing 
Trouville, he had in some strange manner become 
acquainted, but only in a vague way, with the plot 
against the Count. After concentrating his whole mental 
energy on the consideration of all the details in his 
possession, he had reasoned out a theory and a line of 
action, and he was staking his reputation on the result. 

Although he had to cope with enormous difficulties, 
Renardeau was an exceptional man, and all day long, 
at various points, he had been receiving reports from 
his spies and runners, and like the skillful general he 
was, he had aides within call, so that, in a measure, the 
map of Paris was under his eye. The movements of the 
members of ‘Le Cercle Patriotique ' had been followed 
and reported to him almost hourly. With the aid of 
Charles, who now clearly understood his master was in 
danger, Renardeau had gradually narrowed down the 
line of investigation. 

Early in the afternoon the able detective had aban- 
doned the hope of laying his hand directly on the 
dangerous criminal for whom the search was being made. 
His foresight in placing a watch on the movements of 
the members of ‘Le Cercle Patriotique 9 was now re- 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


49 


warded, for the theory on which he now decided to act 
centered altogether on this club. The problem he had 
to solve, was to find the place of meeting in time to be 
present himself almost at the opening of their pro- 
ceedings. 

From all of this it might be thought that Renardeau 
had given up all hope of finding the notorious man for 
whose capture such a tempting reward was offered. 

It might also be thought that the detective had de- 
cided upon protecting Charney, and that he deemed 
the prevention of crime to be of sufficient importance 
to call for every effort on his part. 

But Renardeau had his theory, and he was now acting 
on it — it would soon be known if he was right. 

On one pretext or another admission had been gained 
to the houses of several members of ‘Le Cercle .’ The 
servants had been liberally fee’d, and innocent questions 
had been asked and fully answered. The result was that 
there were only three houses left, in one of which the 
meeting would be held. It was unfortunate for the 
detective that these houses were scattered widely apart, 
and although a meeting could not be held in any of 
them without his hearing of it as promptly as was pos- 
sible under the circumstances, it would necessarily take 
time to bring the information to him, even in a central 
place, and many things might happen before he could 
reach the spot. 

As soon as his investigations reached this point, Renar- 
deau had mapped out the three houses in an irregular 
triangle. Knowing Paris as he did, he had selected a 
central rendezvous, and, failing earlier discovery of the 
meeting place on his own part, he was to be there at a 
given time to receive reports, and he had everything 


50 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


prepared so that he could act immediately on receiving 

the first definite and favorable information. 

********* 

Renardeau sat down in Count Charney’s library be- 
fore the cheerful blaze of the open fireplace. The old 
butler had noticed his exhausted condition, and he had 
gone to bring in some refreshment of an appetizing kind, 
such as may always be had on almost a moment’s notice 
in a well-ordered house like this. The detective did not 
know of the Consul’s order to arrest and deport Count 
Charney, but he did know of the plot against the 
Count ’s life, and consequently he had been able to appeal 
in good faith to Charles for his assistance ; and the old 
butler, though not fully aware of Renardeau ’s plans, 
yet understood enough to know that his young master 
was in immediate danger, and that this energetic man 
was working directly and indirectly to save the Count’s 
life. He had therefore given him the fullest information. 

When Charles returned to the library he was accom- 
panied by Margot, who quickly placed the food before 
the hungry detective and retired, while Charles went to 
his room to put on outdoor clothing, for he had offered 
and insisted on going with Renardeau, and the detec- 
tive had immediately acquiesced, for he had intended 
asking the old man to accompany him for reasons of 
his own. 

Renardeau had risen from the table and was looking 
at the timepiece on the mantel, when his quick ear de- 
tected the sound of wheels on the pavement at the front. 
He immediately prepared for setting out, and just as 
the front door bell rang he was joined by Charles, who 
was also ready, and together they passed out. 

The driver of the fiacre had just had time to snatch 
some refreshment and to dry his outer clothing. He 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


51 


was pleased to have punctual patrons — there was no 
waiting — so jumping on the box, his passengers inside, 
he whipped up his fresh horses and they started off at 
a good pace. 

The wind had abated a little, and the sleet was turn- 
ing into snow. It was not so cutting, and it was easier 
to find the way in the dark streets. The driver had evi- 
dently been instructed, for he had dashed off without 
waiting for a word. 

Those inside the vehicle were able to converse from 
time to time as they passed over the more frequented 
streets where the roads were well worn and smooth. The 
falling snow was also beginning to make a soft cushion 
for the horses’ feet. 

“M. Charles,” said Renardeau, “you have told me 
the names of the club members — are their faces familiar 
to you?” 

“Not all, sir — there are three I have never seen?” 

“But during the past two years,” rejoined Renardeau, 
“they have met in Count Charney’s house. Did you 
not know that?” 

“Yes, sir; I knew they met, but I did not see them, 
for the Count insisted on my taking a holiday on those 
nights. ’ ’ 

“Then how is it that you appear to know some of the 
members quite well?’ 

“Because those I told you of have visited the house 
frequently, and I soon learned their connection with the 
club,” replied Charles. 

1 1 Then you have never seen Lecaron, Rollin or Picot ? ’ ’ 
said the detective. 

“No, sir; I have not,” was the answer. 

‘ ‘ If you had seen one of these three men before, under 
circumstances that are likely to be on your mind, could 
you positively identify him?” 


52 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


“If I had merely met him once before and had not 
noticed him particularly, ’ * replied Charles, “I should 
not be able to recall his face; but if I had seen him in 
connection with any incident that is still in my mind, 
I could identify the face and recall every detail of the 
incident. ’ ’ 

“That is enough — it is all I want,” said the detective 
cheerfully; “now let us hope for luck, for I do not 
wish to conceal from you that your master is in a dan- 
gerous position. ’ ’ 

“Oh, sir!” eagerly said the faithful old servant, “I 
have neither children nor relatives left, and my young 
master is dear to me — Save him, M. Renardeau ! and the 
whole savings of a lifetime shall be yours.” 

“Your love and generosity do you credit, M. Charles,” 
said the detective, “the whole power of the Prefecture 
is at work tonight and we are going to save the Count. 
So keep your hard-earned savings — for the State pays 
me well for what I do.” 

“Thank you, sir; I shall not embarrass you with my 
grief — but I have the same presentiment or feeling of 
impending disaster that I had the day my master and 
mistress were seized and led off to execution.” 

“Bear up and hope,” said Renardeau, “but tell me, 
how came the young Count’s father and mother to re- 
main in Paris; placing their lives in the keeping of the 
rabble when they had it in their power to fly in the 
early days, as did so many others?” 

“Oh, sir,” replied the old man, his tears falling over 
the awakened memories of those terrible days. “We 
were on our way to England — we were leaving Paris, 
the last barrier was just about to be passed, when a vile 
wretch sprang out and denounced the Count and 
Countess as enemies of the Republic.” 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


53 


“Doubtless for blood-money — the miserable scoun- 
drel, ’ ’ remarked Renardeau, ‘ ‘ a paltry five or ten francs, 
to be spent the next day in a tavern. If any of these 
gentry come under my hands they will never see the out- 
side of a jail again — they are the tigers of the human 
race; not fit to be at large.” After a few moments’ 
pause in deference to the feelings of poor old Charles, 
the detective again interrogated him — “If you saw this 
informer again, would you know him?” 

“Know him!” replied the old man, “I should know 
him again under any circumstances.” 

“Even if disguised,” queried Renardeau, “his hair 
dyed, possibly — his features changed by the intervening 
years ? ’ ’ 

“It would make no difference,” replied Charles with 
savage confidence, “every wretched line of that man’s 
face is firmly placed in my memory — I can see him 
before me now with horrible distinctness.” 

“So much the better,” commented Renardeau, “his 
day of punishment may be near.” 

“What is that you say?” eagerly questioned Charles, 
but at that moment the detective placed his hand on his 
companion’s arm with a “Hush! Listen!” for the ve- 
hicle suddenly stopped, and a face appeared at one of 
the windows. 

Renardeau had the upper half of the door open in a 
trice, and putting his head out he eagerly enquired, 
“Well, Pierre, what news? Speak out quickly, for I see 
you have something to tell me ! ’ ’ 

The young man thus addressed — for he was a mere 
youth, thin and poorly clad, but with the light of intelli- 
gence and enthusiasm in his eyes — stopped just a mo- 
ment to gain breath. He was panting like a greyhound 
after a race, and no wonder, for he had covered two miles 


54 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


at full speed, gaining victory over the others who were 
doubtless now on their way to the central rendezvous on 
horseback, or in vehicle, to make the news known. Was 
it luck, or superior intelligence that had prompted this 
messenger to make a short cut to one of the thorough- 
fares he knew Renardeau must follow in order to reach 
the rendezvous ? Perhaps both. But at any rate, there 
he was; and valuable time would be saved — for if his 
information was correct Renardeau could abandon the 
idea of going to the rendezvous and he could drive direct 
to the meeting-place. 

The youth now spoke, “They are at Bellegarde’s 
house, rue St. Jacques. I saw three men go in together 
— at the back. They were followed by two more, who 
entered singly. As I ran around the corner to come 
here I saw another just going in. I ran all the way 
hoping to catch you along your route.’ ’ 

“You shall be well rewarded,” cried the detective to 
the delighted youth, “jump up, quick!” then calling up 
to the box, “drive for your life,” he slammed-to the 
door, and fell back in the seat as the vehicle dashed 
away with a bound, rocking from side to side as the 
whipped horses tore madly on. 

As they neared the rue St. Jacques they were met by 
several men on horseback, and later by one or two ve- 
hicles. Evidently the extraordinary speed of the on- 
coming horses must have told the watchers that some 
one they awaited was there, for they quickly turned and 
followed at the best speed they could. 

When Renardeau turned into the rue St. Jacques he 
was able to make out a military detachment proceeding 
silently in the direction he was going. It did not occur 
to him that he was on a dangerous mission, and that he 
had neither pistol nor sword with which to defend him- 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


55 


self. As a matter of fact this extraordinary man was 
never armed. He had been in the most dangerous situa- 
tions and his life had often been in peril. He was abso- 
lutely fearless, and knowing the power of the law he 
felt himself sufficiently armed. It had always happened, 
hitherto, that when the vital moment arrived he had 
within call a sufficient force to overawe resistance. He 
trusted in his own intelligence, and he relied on the men 
he had chosen to help him. These men had often been 
tried, and they had never failed him. His keen eye had 
noticed the signs along the way. He knew his men were 
coming — he had done all that was possible to be done; 
and now he was nearly there. A fiacre with a single 
jaded horse was rapidly overtaken and passed, but 
Renardeau was not aware that Lupin and Belette were 
inside. 

The carriage pulled up with a lurch. Beckoning to 
Charles, the detective jumped out and ran rapidly to 
the back entrance. Renardeau was first again. What- 
ever had happened, or might happen, he had that satis- 
faction. Rapidly instructing Pierre, who had followed, 
to have an entrance forced; the detective suddenly no- 
ticed a door being cautiously opened. A head appeared 
for a moment, but it was quickly withdrawn and an 
attempt was made to slam the door shut. It failed, 
however, for Renardeau threw his whole weight against 
it. The defence was immediately abandoned — the door 
opened wide, and the detective heard nothing but the 
sound of rapidly retreating footsteps. He turned a mo- 
ment and saw his men were quickly surrounding the 
house. With a smile of elation he motioned Charles to 
follow, and, with a rush, disappeared inside. 


CHAPTER V 


‘ E GERCLE PATR10TIQUE’ was about to 

meet. Several of its members bad already 
arrived, for standing near the large mantel, 

M A with its decorated shelf of brass candle- 
sticks and blue Delft ware, three men were engaged in 
earnest conversation. 

The room was large and spacious, and the walls and 
ceiling were finished in wainscot panels. Chairs were 
arranged on two sides of the room, extending in two 
wings from the open wood fire burning on the hearth, 
and near the mantel was a small table — evidently 
intended for the convenience of the president of the 
club. Suspended from the ceiling by a strong chain 
was a double Roman urn, in both branches of which 
large oil lamps were burning. From the absence of 
furniture, other than the chairs and one small table 
just mentioned, it was evident the room was neither 
dining-room nor sitting-room. It was, in fact, one of 
the extra rooms, often found in old houses, which are 
isolated or cut off from the remaining apartments in 
such a way that the existence of the rooms would 
hardly be suspected. Such chambers were usually 
walled-in completely and without the usual entrance 
doors, and admission was gained by secret sliding 
panels, cunningly concealed. 

This room, then, in M. Bellegarde’s house, on the 
rue St. Jacques, was completely isolated, for, although 
it had two doorways in its side walls, entrance was 
gained from a narrow corridor which extended around 
three of its sides, and beyond this the walls were solid. 
This corridor communicated with a carefully concealed 


56 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


57 


stairway built also between solid walls, and approached 
from the ground floor by a secret panel in the library. 

Those intimate with M. Bellegarde, and who had 
been admitted to this private room, entertained the 
idea that there were secret approaches to it other than 
the one described. In a spirit of curiosity they had 
sounded the panels vigorously, but they were all solid 
and immovable. They had once questioned M. Belle- 
garde about it, but if he knew of any other passage or 
means of entrance he concealed it, for he always led 
the conversation in another direction when any attempt 
was made to question him concerning the secrets of 
the room. 

4 ‘Then you have quite made up your mind to go on 
with your plan?” said one of the three men standing 
near the fire, as he turned from one to the other of his 
companions. 

“We have, Lecaron,” said one in reply, “and there 
can be no drawing back now, for the arrangements are 
completed beyond recall.” 

He who thus spoke was of a strong build and average 
height, but he had a bloated and dissipated look, and 
in comparison with his two associates, who themselves 
were men much below the average in mental attain- 
ments, this man made a poor showing, for he had a low 
forehead and repulsive expression, and when he smiled, 
or leered, as he sometimes did, his eyes closed and his 
nostrils flattened in such a way as to give him a for- 
bidding and almost diabolical expression. This indi- 
vidual’s presence in the house of a respectable and 
superior man is hard to understand, and the fact that 
one with the refinement and intelligence that Charney 
possessed should condescend to even sit in the same 
room with such a man, shows that when one embarks in 


58 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


politics lie often becomes careless of his associates — he 
lowers himself. 

The man who had just spoken was Picot. He was 
the man who, without knowing it, had been under 
Renardeau ’s watchful eye for many years. Everything 
had blown over, he thought, and he was becoming 
bolder. 

The one who had addressed him, Lecaron, was a man 
of ordinary height and features, neither bright nor 
stupid in mental equipment — simply an average man. 
His manner of speaking betrayed irresolution, although 
he had that tenacity of purpose generally termed obsti- 
nacy in an unthinking man. 

The third man now spoke, “You saw Laforte, you 
say,” addressing Picot, “he thoroughly understands — 
he agrees — you have paid his fee.” 

“Hush! Rollin,” replied Picot, looking towards the 
door and motioning to him to speak lower, “Yes, all 
is arranged. He demanded twice the amount he had 
agreed to take. He had forgotten the risk he runs in 
coming to Paris. I saw no other way than to close 
with him. The time for action has arrived — it is now 
or never. If we remove our timorous president we can 
then strike a blow that should win us the gratitude of 
our country.” 

“Yes,” remarked Rollin, “for it will send Consols 
high.” The three men here laughed heartily, for the 
last speaker had a strong element of humor in his 
disposition, and he always spoke with such easy confi- 
dence that difficulties seemed to have no existence for 
him. 

Lecaron, however, was timorous and he asked, “Why 
cannot we simply depose our president, meet elsewhere, 
and act without him?” 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


59 


“Yon do not know your president/’ said Rollin? 

“If you hurt his pride he will prove an implacable 
foe.” Picot put his hand on Rollin’s arm and con- 
tinued, “Your safety is bound up with ours — we stand 
or fall together, and as we and you are fully resolved on 
action, this step is in your interest as well as in ours.” 

“So you say, but I am not fully convinced.” 

Rollin here went over to Lecaron and gave him a 
friendly pat on the shoulder, “Brace up, man, your 
nerves are weak tonight. You have been drinking too 
much” — and as Lecaron turned on him angrily, he 
added — “coffee.” Again all three joined in laughter 
at Rollin’s little sally. 

Picot now resumed. “Remember, Laforte is to insult 
the Count so grossly that he will be goaded into mak- 
ing a furious attack, and in that way we shall be for- 
ever rid of him.” 

“Our man is a sure blade, then?” said Rollin. 

“The one that can stand his ground before Laforte 
has yet to be heard of,” laughed Picot. “Charney will 
be like a lamb in the hands of the butcher. 

Lecaron was evidently uneasy. “My mind misgives 
me,” he said; “I like this the less, the more I hear 
of it.” 

The comments of the other men were unspoken, for 
before either could reply, M. Bellegarde, the owner of 
the house, entered. As he was in the act of greeting 
his club associates another member arrived, de Barsac, 
who stepped forward and shared in the interchange of 
courtesies. Just as all present were seating themselves 
one more member entered, Herault, and after general 
greetings all took their seats. 

“Where is Trouville?” asked Picot. 

“The minority of one,” explained the humorous 


60 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


Rollin, at which all present laughed, “who believes 
that whatever the president does, is right,” added 
Rollin. 

“I think he will not be here,” replied Lecaron, “we 
must act without him.” 

M. Bellegarde here spoke. “We must await our 
president. It gives me time to say that while I am in 
favor of immediate action and will vote for the deposi- 
tion of our president — I am not in favor of any affront 
being put upon him. I give my support to what is 
honorable and fair, — I oppose any other course..” 

“I hope we are all of one mind with you Bellegarde,” 
said de Barsac, “and that only honorable men are 
here.” 

Picot, Rollin and Lecaron here withdrew to one side 
and conversed in whispers, and the others rose and 
grouped themselves around the fireplace, conversing in 
a low tone, closely observing Picot and his companions, 
the while. 

It was evident that although associates of the same 
club these two groups of men were not in close accord. 
Some circumstance or feeling had drawn a dividing 
line between them. At this moment a step was heard 
in the corridor, and a diversion was created by the 
entrance of Count Charney, their president. 

Bellegarde, de Barsac and Herault rose promptly and 
greeted the young Count with great respect, and even 
the members of much inferior intelligence, Picot, Rollin 
and Lecaron, sprang to their feet in deference to the 
uncontrollable feeling of respect that Charney ’s pres- 
ence always commanded everywhere. 

Charney was too young to possess any magnetism 
other than that of youth, energy and intelligence ; but 
his distinguished appearance, his manly bearing and 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


61 


general air of culture and good-breeding made him 
a commanding figure; and he just lacked age, expe- 
rience and knowledge of men and affairs to give him 
a power over others that would be almost irresistible. 

Charney acknowledged the general salute fittingly 
and took his seat at the small table near the fireplace. 
“Come, Messieurs,” he said, “I call our meeting to 
order — our session is open. ’ ’ An awkward silence now 
ensued, for no one seemed willing to speak first, and 
each looked to another to begin. 

At last M. Bellegarde arose. “M. le President,” he 
said, “instead of putting off an explanation that now 
occupies our minds, I deem it right to open up the dis- 
cussion by making known to you, in as courteous terms 
as may be possible, the fact that the members of l Le 
Cercle ’ — tired of their meetings for two years, without 
result, and weary of waiting for you to lead them into 
action — are decided upon asking your resignation as 
president. ’ ’ 

In one way or another the members showed approval, 
but Charney rose, and, standing with his back to the 
fireplace, remarked quietly, “and if I decline?” 

Picot jumped up, saying roughly, “we will — ” 

The sentence was not finished, for Rollin and Lecaron, 
unwilling to precipitate matters at this stage, caught 
hold of Picot by his coat-tails and jerked him back into 
his seat. 

M. Bellegarde, who had remained standing, turned 
severely to Picot and remarked, “I must request the 
silence of other members while I am speaking. M. le 
President,” he went on, “you ask what course we shall 
take if you will not resign! Alas! it is my disagree- 
able duty to inform you that we will formally depose 
you and elect another in your place.” The speaker 
resumed his seat. 


62 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


Herault now rose. “We do not question your 
patriotism, ’ ’ he said, “but the time for action has come, 
and we must have an aggressive leader .’ ’ 

“One who is not afraid of his own shadow!” spite- 
fully interjected Picot from his seat. 

“It is against our rules to allow personalities,” 
quietly remarked de Barsac as he stood up, “and as M. 
Picot has gravely offended, I may be allowed to remark 
that brave men — here he bowed to and indicated Char- 
ney — are never afraid,” then turning towards Picot, 
“while loud talkers are generally lacking in real brav- 
ery,” he concluded. 

“Do you mean that for me?” shouted Picot, as he 
sprang to his feet. 

“I mean it for any one to whom it applies,” calmly 
observed de Barsac as he sat down. 

The president here interposed, calmly waving his 
hand, “Messieurs, we will postpone this discussion until 
later in the evening — you shall then hear what I have 
to say.” 

As Charney sat down, the trio, Picot, Rollin and 
Lecaron sprang up, crying, “We protest.” 

The president again rose and in quiet tones remarked, 
“Then, Messieurs, having protested, you may sit down 
again, for your president has the floor and other busi- 
ness comes first. ” The protesting members grudgingly 
yielded and took their seats. The president continued, 
“At our last meeting a new member was proposed by 
M. Picot and seconded by M. Rollin — is it your pleasure 
that this candidate be now called and questioned by 
me, as provided by our regulations?” 

A general cry of “yes” was the response. 

“Messieurs Picot and Rollin, you may introduce the 
candidate for whom you stand sponsors,” said the 
president as he resumed his seat. 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


63 


Picot and Rollin went out, and, after a short absence, 
returned bringing in the candidate for membership. 

He was a stranger to the majority of the members, 
and as he entered the room he was naturally subjected 
to a friendly scrutiny. This was one of the moments 
when a man is judged by his general bearing, and if the 
first impression is unfavorable it is often difficult to 
efface it. The newcomer was a tall, fine-looking man; 
and he walked with the erect figure and springing step 
that told of trained muscular action and perfect physi- 
cal condition. But any favorable impression about to 
he received was checked, and in fact totally destroyed, 
by the demeanor or bearing of the candidate. He 
walked in with a bold, almost swaggering air, with one 
hand resting on his hip — his arm akimbo — while with 
the other hand he continually caressed and curled his 
long mustachios. He looked around with a stare that 
could only be termed insolent, and without any show of 
deference he walked over to one of the vacant chairs 
and sat down — crossed one knee over the other and 
rested his long sword, in its scabbard, on his lap. 

A perfect silence ensued, for the newcomer had 
created a distinct and unfavorable impression. His 
sponsors were hardly prepared for this, while the more 
intelligent members of ( Le Cercle’ for the first time 
had doubts of their own wisdom in engaging for a cause 
that brought them into any relation with such men as 
Picot and the new candidate. 

Charney looked at Bellegarde, Herault and de Barsac, 
and read in their eyes the same disgust that he felt. 
It was possible that matters had gone too far to prevent 
the election of the candidate, for he had been regularly 
nominated. At the same time if there should be any 
informality in his answers, the matter would have a 


64 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


different aspect; and even with Trouville absent the 
club would apparently be equally divided, and in that 
event the president’s casting vote would settle the mat- 
ter. Charney therefore arose and proceeded with the 
routine for the admission of a candidate. 

“Your name, candidate?” said Charney in the cour- 
teous manner that was his. 

“I thought you knew — my name is Laforte,” was the 
reply, spoken in ungracious tones. 

‘ ‘ Candidate, do you love liberty ? ’ ’ 

“Of course, I do,” replied Laforte, folding his arms 
boldly and defiantly. 

“ Your sponsors have made you acquainted with the 
form of this examination — do not enlarge, but reply 
simply ‘Yes,’ or ‘No’ — ‘I do,’ or ‘I do not.’ ” 

The candidate here angrily put his right hand 
threateningly on his sword hilt, and Bellegarde, noticing 
the action, whispered a word or two to de Barsac. 

“Do you hate tyrants?” continued the president. 

“I hate Napoleon Bonaparte, if that is what you 
mean,” angrily exclaimed the candidate, who seemed 
to be losing his temper. 

“The answer must be ‘Yes,’ or ‘No,’ ” the president 
calmly instructed. 

“Say ‘Yes,’ ” whispered Picot. 

“Well, then; yes,” answered Laforte, turning to the 
president. 

Charney went calmly on, ignoring the rude answers 
of the candidate. “Do you swear to uphold our consti- 
tution with your life?” 

“I am good at swearing,” answered Laforte, with a 
laugh, “I will swear to anything.” 

M. Bellegarde here rose and stepped forward. “M. le 
President, permit me,” he said, as he saw Charney was 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


65 


about to speak. “I am not willing that this examina- 
tion should proceed further. Whoever is our president ” 
— he turned and addressed all — “must have due respect 
shown him while he is our president.” 

Lecaron here crossed over and joined Picot, Rollin 
and Laforte, and they gathered in a group at one side 
of the room. 

At this juncture de Barsac rose to address the presi- 
dent, “I move,” he said, “that the candidate be re- 
quested to withdraw until we decide upon our course. 
There is something here I do not understand. Let us 
be wise and discuss the matter calmly, amongst our- 
selves, before the situation assumes a sinister aspect.” 

Charney nodded his approval, “Candidate,” he said, 
addressing Laforte, “You have heard — will you with- 
draw voluntarily and leave us for awhile to discuss 
amongst ourselves?” 

Laforte, evidently following some preconceived plan, 
now advanced rudely to the president and exclaimed, 
“I came here to stay, and I defy you to put me out.” 
He drew his sword and held it menacingly. Charney, 
taken by surprise, stepped back before the point of the 
advancing sword, drawing his own sword to defend him- 
self ; but Bellegarde, Herault and de Barsac drew their 
swords simultaneously, and all three threw themselves 
between the two, forcing back Laforte, who for the 
moment was surprised, and gave way before the unex- 
pected interposition. Bellegarde turned and exclaimed, 
“Withdraw, Charney — make your escape — I see all — 
this is a dastardly plot against your life.” 

Picot, Lecaron and Rollin now drew their swords. 
With Laforte, they tried to break down the guard of 
Charney ’s defenders so as to make a rush on the Count. 

Charney knew that those who were loyal to him were 


66 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


outnumbered by their assailants, and he passed around, 
between his friends and the fireplace, exclaiming, “You 
are fighting in my cause — my place is here,” saying 
which he placed himself alongside of Bellegarde and 
singling out Laforte, attacked him with vigor. 

The combatants on Charney’s side steadily pressed 
their antagonists towards the side wall, foot-by-foot. 
Charney, however, heavily overmatched, lost ground 
rapidly before Laforte ’s skilful and fierce attack. He 
had only been able to save himself by continual giving 
way as he parried the dangerous thrusts that were de- 
livered against him with tremendous force and dazzling 
rapidity. His arm was growing stiff — his hand became 
weaker — he had no chance — he saw he was completely 
in this man’s power— he read death in his flashing and 
exulting glances — he saw the sword drawn back for the 
fatal stroke he could not parry — a mist came over his 
eyes — and then 

“Hold!” cried a ringing voice, for a secret panel at 
one side of the fireplace had noiselessly opened, and the 
brave and tireless Renardeau precipitated himself into 
the room, just in time to rush against Laforte ’s sword- 
arm, marring his stroke and turning the swordsman half 
around with the force of the impact. 

“Hold!” repeated Renardeau in a loud voice, and 
then adding, as he raised his right hand solemnly, “in 
the name of the law.” 

There he stood alone and unarmed, fearless and in- 
trepid, for he represented law and order. All were 
awed by his presence — so sudden and unexpected had it 
been. They dropped the points of their swords and stood 
motionless. One of Bellegarde ’s servant’s ran in by the 
corridor and cried out, “Fly! The police are coming.” 

Renardeau smiled quietly. 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


67 


Bellegarde was now the first to speak. 4 'Quick! the 
other secret passage,” he cried, pointing to a panel on 
the other side of the fireplace, "here is only one man; 
let us escape before his companions arrive to overpower 
us.” 

At this moment, furious at the intrusion, Laforte 
quickly raised his sword and made a vicious thrust at 
Renardeau who stood quietly near — all unconscious of 
the danger that menaced him. Charney ’s eye caught 
the gleam of the threatening blade, and, barely in time, 
he plunged forward with extended sword and exerting 
all the force he could command, struck upward. La- 
forte’s weapon flashed harmlessly in the air, and Renar- 
deau ’s life was saved. 

"No bloodshed,” commanded Charney, as Laforte 
again presented his sword at the detective — hate and 
rage in his face — "this man is unarmed.” 

Renardeau looked his thanks at Charney, and taking 
out a whistle he put it to his lips and blew a shrill call. 
Bellegarde and the others rushed to the secret panel 
he had indicated, with the intention of making their 
escape, but it suddenly opened before they could reach 
it, and Lupin and Belette burst into the room. Belle- 
garde and his companions recoiled for a moment, then 
seeing the way was open to the side corridor and the 
private stair by which they had entered, they all made 
a rush in that direction. Before they could reach it, 
however, the armed forces, summoned by Renardeau ’s 
signal, and those following Lupin and Belette, crowded 
into the room through the corridor entrances and from 
both secret passages, completely surrounding the 
inmates and cutting off every avenue of escape. 

Then followed a moment of absolute silence, when 
the passions and feelings that animated each one could 


68 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


plainly be read in their faces. The valiant Picot 
struggled to overcome a fit of trembling — he showed 
fright, and looked for all the world like a cur expecting 
a beating. Lecaron was pale — his conscience accused 
him. Rollin gave a cynical smile and an almost imper- 
ceptible shrug of the shoulders. Bellegarde, Herault 
and de Barsac, like brave men — seeing resistance use- 
less — calmly resigned themselves to the inevitable. 

And Charney — it was difficult to say what were his 
thoughts. He thought of his father and mother — of 
poor old Charles who had warned him and who, faith- 
fully following him up, had now been wounded in his 
defense. He thought of little Marie, strange to relate, 
and the idea flashed through his mind that perhaps he 
had lived a selfish and useless life. He was grateful 
to this unknown detective who had saved his life, and 
yet over all his thoughts there was a feeling of intense 
uneasiness and dread he could not account for. 

Yes, poor old Charles had been wounded by Laforte, 
for when Renardeau had dashed in, just in time to 
throw himself between Laforte and Count Charney, the 
old butler, following close behind, had received a pain- 
ful sword-thrust in his shoulder. 

Renardeau looked around carefully to see that none 
could escape the net, and immediately called a young 
man from the ranks behind to bind up the wound of 
old Charles who was reclining in a chair — suffering 
with eyes closed, but with a faint smile of satisfaction 
on his lips. He had helped to save his young master. 
That was all he cared for — he gave no thought to his 
wound. 

Renardeau now joined Lupin and Belette. He was 
engaged in the little pantomime he always indulged in, 
all unconsciously, at the successful conclusion of each 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


69 


‘affair’ — he was washing his hands in imaginary soap 
and water. 

His associates were well acquainted with this little 
peculiarity and so they tried to keep countenance, but 
the secret service men and those of the military de- 
tachment could not repress a smile — even though they 
felt the occasion was a serious one. 

A short conference of the trio of detectives brought 
surprise to Renardeau, for he glanced at Charney and 
old Charles uneasily. Lupin had addressed Renardeau 
in low tones — “You are our superior — you were on the 
ground first, and so we shall have to yield these im- 
portant arrests to you. It is your good luck — you are 
always first. We shall have to work on, and wait for 
the promotion we hoped to get for this night’s work.” 

“What arrests do you refer to?” asked Renardeau. 

‘ ‘ To those of Count Charney and the man Picot, ’ ’ re- 
plied Lupin, “and in addition we were to arrest the 
members of ‘Le Cercle .’ 99 

“Well,” replied the generous Renardeau, “you may 
have them, I give them up to you.” 

“What!” cried the eager pair, overjoyed at this 
generosity on the part of their superior; a generosity 
that meant much to them. 

“You yield these arrests to us?” said Belette, his 
eyes sparkling. 

“But,” said the practical Lupin, “that leaves you 
nothing to do — we could hardly expect you to let us 
have all the credit — it would not be fair.” 

“I have told you the arrests are yours — so proceed. 
I may claim one man as my own, but it will be neither 
Count Charney nor your villainous M. Picot. Belette,” 
he added, “the Consul’s business first; so go on with 
your formal accusation and arrest.” 


70 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


Belette stepped forward eagerly, and placing his 
hand respectfully on Charney ’s shoulder he spoke in 
formal tones, “Charles Yeramont, Count de Charney, 
you are arrested by order of the Consul — your sword, 
please.’ ’ 

The blow had fallen ; hut somehow Charney foresaw 
it. He met his arrest calmly and was about to give up 
his sword when Renardeau stepped up and whispered 
to Belette. Belette nodded and turning to Charney he 
said, “You may keep your sword, Count Charney.” 

Charney bowed gratefully to Renardeau and Belette, 
and put back his sword. 

Old Charles had nearly swooned from loss of blood, 
and he was too weak to notice the serious turn in the 
affairs of his beloved master. 

“Your turn, Lupin,” said Renardeau. 

As Lupin advanced towards him, Picot trembled. “I 
arrest you, Jean Picot,” said the detective, “on a 
special warrant from the Department of Justice.” 

“I am innocent of the murder,” said the wretched 
Picot. 

“I said nothing about a murder,” quickly remarked 
Lupin; and Picot hung his head in confusion as he 
realized what he had said. 

Renardeau had found a flask of cognac in the posses- 
sion of one of his men, and he had given a little to 
old Charles to revive him. This gave strength to the 
old butler, and he opened his eyes and sat up in his 
chair. Just as he did so, Picot replied to Lupin, and 
Renardeau noticed a terrible shuddering had seized the 
frame of the wounded man. His face became pale, and 
his eyes dilated with horror. He pointed with trembling, 
outstretched hand as he exclaimed, “M. Renardeau, 
there stands the man of the barrier — the miserable 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


71 


wreitch who sent my young master’s father and mother 
to their execution.” 

“I knew I was right,” exclaimed Renardeau, looking 
fiercely at Picot. 

The old man fell back, and as all looked at Picot, 
there were few who did not shudder as they realized 
they were face to face with one of the vampires of the 
terrible revolution — now happily past. 

Picot did not even try to look innocent. The voice 
and face of the old man roused terrible memories in his 
guilty breast, and if conscience ever worked in a man of 
such low degree, it was surely at work now; for the 
former innkeeper became livid, and he shook in pro- 
found terror. 

Charney trembled with emotion and involuntarily 
placed his hand to his sword ; but Renardeau was observ- 
ing, and placing his hand earnestly on the arm of the 
young Count he calmly said, “Would you rob the execu- 
tioner of his work? Look upon that wretch as dead, 
for I promise you within a month he will pay the last 
penalty of his crimes. With the evidence that I have 
had in my possession for several years I could have sent 
him to the guillotine long ago. For certain reasons, 
known and approved by my superiors, I have waited 
until today; but now — thank God — his time is up.” 

Picot was now so weak that he had to be held up. 
Laforte had been a keen listener, and as Renardeau 
concluded he placed his hand as if to reach something 
from inside his coat pocket. He desisted when he saw 
he was closely observed. 

Lupin here stepped forward and continued in formal 
tones, “All other inmates of this house are arrested 
under a general warrant as members of a seditious 
society known as ‘ Le Cercle Patriotique.’ ” 


72 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


“But we are innocent, M’sieu,” cried Lecaron. 

“Innocent of what?” queried Lupin sarcastically. 

“Be quiet Lecaron,” laughed Rollin, “if you open 
your mouth you will put your foot in it.” 

“Well, Messieurs,” continued Lupin, “you will have 
an opportunity in the morning for convincing the 
magistrate of your innocence. He is a very amiable 
man, and open to conviction. But be careful, for if 
you do not convince him, he may convict you — your 
swords, Messieurs.” 

Those addressed gave up their swords, and as they 
did so they noticed Trouville standing amongst the 
officials near the fireplace. 

“You here, Trouville, and with our captors?” said 
Bellegarde — “what does this mean?” 

“He must have been arrested,” explained Charney, 
“just as he was entering — late.” 

“Not so, Count, I cannot sail under false colors,” 
said Trouville, stepping forward. “I found there was 
a plot to murder you tonight and I took the only sure 
course I knew of, to save your life. I led the police 
here — just in time.” 

Laf orte started visibly during Trouville ’s recital, but 
his emotion was unnoticed — all eyes being directed 
towards Trouville. Seeing he was unobserved, Laforte 
quietly placed his right hand in his inside breast pocket 
and suddenly drawing out a pistol, drew up the 
hammer and took rapid aim at Trouville. 

Renardeau’s quick ear caught the click, and his keen 
eye saw the action, for, quick as a flash, he threw him- 
self forward and dashed up the firearm in the air where 
it exploded harmlessly, and fell to the floor from the 
force of his blow. 

Laforte was seized roughly from behind. His arms 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


73 


were grasped by strong hands, and although he was a 
powerful man he was easily held by the weight of 
numbers. Strong cord was brought with which he 
was securely bound, and handcuffs were placed over 
his hands. 

“When shall I learn wisdom?” regretfully exclaimed 
Renardeau. “I should have done this at first — my 
over-confidence and stupidity nearly added another 
murder to the list of this man’s crimes.” 

“What, ” cried Bellegarde, starting forward 

with astonishment, “You know this Laforte?” 

‘ ‘ And he is a criminal ? ’ ’ said Charney with agitation. 

“His name is not Laforte,” replied Renardeau, 
“but he is a criminal. He is worth eleven thousand 
francs to me,” he smilingly explained to Lupin and 
Belette, who were gazing with increasing astonish- 
ment. 

“He is wanted for the Red-House murder,” con- 
tinued Renardeau — “his name is Chocquette!” 



CHAPTER VI. 


W E are in Italy, the sunny and beautiful 
garden of Europe, the land of the 
vine and the olive, the orange and the 
citron. 

In the southern peninsula the vernal season is over, 
but in the north and west it is just reaching full matu- 
rity, and the gorgeous bloom of early summer gives 
joy to the landscape, while the newly opened flowers 
are blushing as they yield their fragrance to the gentle 
breeze. 

From the plains of Piedmont and Lombardy the 
steep and rocky precipices of the Alps rise abruptly in 
their mighty and awful grandeur. Higher and higher 
the winter snows are melting, and the foaming water- 
falls are pouring into the valleys below; where the 
turbulent Po surges on to swell the waters of the 
Adriatic. 

Ferns and mosses in brightly-glowing green are 
sparkling with moisture. The timid hare is changing 
his color from wintry-white to gray-brown. The rock- 
chough with golden yellow bill and feet flies in and out 
of the bare clefts and circles about his nest in the high 
rocks; while snow larks and snow-finches, high in air, 
are pouring out their sweet little songs. 

Early butterflies, with rich tracery on their gossamer 
wings, are fluttering with erratic course over sunny 
slopes and pastures that are rich with wild flowers. 

The blue campanula, the yellow gentian, the straw- 
colored primula, the panicled white or red saxifrage, 
and the veronica with its petals of blue, pencilled with 
violet, pink or purple — are all around us ; and soon the 


74 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


75 


alpen rose or rhododendron, with its magnificent 
carmine clusters, will give added variety to the floral 
panorama. 

If now, in imagination, we traverse northern Italy, 
from Venice to Turin, we shall be reminded that we are 
in one vast theatre of war; for the hills, valleys and 
plains, the mountain passes and river fords have all 
felt the shock of battle as contending nations struggled 
for their existence. 

Mighty warriors, powerful republics and splendid 
kingdoms, now almost forgotten, have run their course 
in this beautiful arena. What brilliant memories of 
power, grandeur and magnificence are evoked by the 
mention of Venice. What a wealth of history is woven 
around the names Verona, Mantua and Pavia. And 
Milan ! with its twenty-six centuries of history ; Genoa, 
the former republic and formidable maritime power; 
Turin, a city of the ancient Roman Empire and more 
recently the capital of Italy — do not these stir the im- 
agination with vivid pictures from the records of the 
past. 

We are now in the heart of Piedmont. If we follow 
the course of the principal river, south and west, we 
reach Pinerolo, once a strongly fortified place of great 
military importance and in the citadel of which Lauzun, 
Fouquet and the Man-with-the-Iron-Mask were im- 
prisoned by Louis XIV. 

To the far south is Nice, where Napoleon first started 
out on his wonderful career, — for it was there that he 
assumed command of the despondent, starving and 
half-clothed Army of Italy, at the early age of twenty- 
six, and where in his first council of war he surprised 
the experienced generals by the boldness of his plans, 
and won their immediate support with the fire of his 
genius. 


76 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


To the far north is the pass of the great St. Bernard, 
where, in May, 1800, the tireless Napoleon dragged his 
artillery through three feet of snow, and marshalled 
the irresistible army that poured down on the plains 
of Italy, to smite the Austrian invaders under Melas 
on their flank, and hurl them back in the terrible con- 
fusion of disastrous defeat. 

The river Clusone rises at the foot of the Cottian 
Alps, on the Italian side, just over the border from the 
French town of Briancon, which town is one of the 
highest in France, being over four thousand three 
hundred feet above the sea level. This town of 
Briancon, though small, has always been a place of 
some importance. It was in existence long before the 
period of early Roman history; it became a Roman 
stronghold under the name of Brigantium, and after 
the fall of the Roman empire it maintained itself for 
long as an independent republic. At the time of which 
we write it was the principal arsenal and depot of the 
French Alps, and its fortifications commanded the road 
across Mont Genevre leading into Italy by Cesara and 
the valley of Fenestrelle. 

Following the picturesque Clusone from its source, 
we soon reach the little village of Fenestrelle with its 
prison-fortress overlooking the river flowing on through 
the valley towards Pinerolo. 

The fortifications of Fenestrelle were formerly of 
some consequence, but at this time they had almost 
fallen into insignificance owing to neglect, and the in- 
creasing size of field and siege artillery. The one-time 
fortress was still a military station, but it was used by 
Napoleon chiefly as a prison for political offenders. 

The governor of the fortress was General St. Remy, 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


77 


an old soldier who had served under Louis XV and 
Louis XVI, and who was now well up in his “ sixties.’ ’ 
He had never shown any great qualities, and his rank 
of general had been won by long service. He had 
served under Napoleon in the first Italian campaign, 
but that masterful man had quietly retired him to the 
peaceful calm of Fenestrelle. 

To tell the truth, he was now more in his proper 
sphere than he had ever been before, for he was natu- 
rally a precise and particular man, and he had little 
habits and peculiarities that unfitted him for the active 
life of a soldier on service. He could now indulge in 
his little afternoon nap, a craving for which had been 
coming over him for years and which he had often 
fought off as well as he could, but not always with 
success, while riding on horseback. 

The old general was a bachelor, and his domestic ar- 
rangements were in the hands of his only sister, a 
spinster who was rapidly approaching the wrong side 
of sixty. She was of a calm and imperturbable disposi- 
tion, had little imagination, and had never had any 
sentiment — not even as a girl at boarding-school. No 
one had ever seen her excited over anything, and no 
matter what events took place — she was never sur- 
prised. She felt there was a reason for everything, 
without troubling herself to enquire into the “why” 
or ‘ ‘ wherefore. ’ ’ Like her brother, she disliked trouble, 
and so these two lived calmly on in their comfortable 
quarters at the fortress — a lonely but not unhappy 
life. 

The fortress, like all old structures, was built on a 
somewhat rambling plan. It had the usual entrance 
gates under the main tower, and an inner court yard, 
around which were grouped the barracks, officers * 


78 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


quarters, etc., and beyond, at the far end, the cells and 
underground dungeons for the prisoners. 

In addition to the main courtyard, there were several 
small yards giving access to outlying wings of the 
prison buildings. From these, the prisoners, if so in- 
clined, could view the distant snow-capped mountains 
over the rampart or parapet of the side of their yard 
that was not enclosed or shut in. 

One of these yards, probably the most secluded of all, 
was open on three sides, and at the back of it was a 
low one-story building or cell for the accommodation 
of one prisoner. Behind this rose the distant Alps. At 
the left was a high wall running to a rampart that 
crowned a steep height and enclosed the third side. 
This rampart turned off at right angles and enclosed 
the remaining side of the yard; with the exception of 
one part where a high causeway or road, with ramparts 
and embrasures at each side, gave access from the main 
courtyard to this isolated cell. 

In this outlying courtyard a man was standing, at 
an early hour, one fine morning in the late spring or 
early summer of the year 1805. 

His official cap and the loose and comfortable uni- 
form he wore gave him the appearance of being half 
soldier — half policeman, and such, in fact, he was; for 
it was Ludovic, the jailer of Fenestrelle, carrying his 
bunch of keys for opening the cells of the prisoners. 

He was tall and broad-shouldered and was evidently 
from the more intelligent peasant class. His carriage 
showed the military training he had undergone at som§ 
time in the past, and his open, honest countenance and 
air of shrewd native intelligence stamped him. as a 
kind-hearted and reliable man. Now jailers are sup- 
posed to be taciturn men, and, in addition, many of 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


79 


them have deserved the reputation or notoriety they 
gained for their brutality and want of human feeling. 
It is too true that a man who has absolute power over 
another is apt to become a degenerate in time, and he 
often ends by exhibiting a cruelty that would shame a 
savage. He becomes, in fact, worse than a wild beast. 
Such was Simon, the revolutionary jailer of the young 
Dauphin. 

Fortunately for the prison inmates of Fenestrelle, 
Ludovic was a warm-hearted and considerate man, and 
while he was efficient as a jailer, he had a natural 
courtesy and kindness of manner that smoothed the 
way wherever he went. 

Ludovic was so cheerful that morning that he was 
actually talking to himself for lack of some one to talk 
to ; for it was a little early for him to start off on his 
morning round to hand the prisoners their breakfasts. 
This is what he was saying: — “I have always said there 
is no place like a first-class jail for rest and quiet. Do 
you want to cultivate regular habits — live in jail. 
Would you live a long life — try a prison; for the sta- 
tistics show that many people live longer in jail than 
out of it. And yet in spite of its advantages, my 
boarders are not satisfied. They are forever grumbling. 
In summer they complain of the heat — in winter they 
are cold. If they had their way there would be a band 
of music here, with billiard rooms, shooting galleries, 
a barber, swimming bath, daily newspapers and a cir- 
culating library. But I have nothing else to do, and 
so I listen patiently to all they say. 

“Now, there’s this one,” and here he selected a key 
from his bunch, “number twenty- two — has been here 
six years and will be here another sixty, if he lives. 
Every morning, when I take him his breakfast of black 
bread and coffee, he asks : 


80 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


‘ ‘Has that infernal monster, Napoleon Bonaparte, 
drawn his last breath yet?” 

‘‘And when I reply that our great Consul is alive 
and well, he falls back on his cot in a flood of tears. I 
suppose as long as the world lasts there will be prisons 
and prisoners, so I must not be too tender-hearted.’.’ 

Just as Ludovic reached this point in his one-sided 
conversation a voice was heard, along the causeway, 
crying ‘ ‘ Ludovic ! Ludovic ! ’ ’ 

Turning in the direction from which the voice came, 
Ludovic replied, “Yes, Caterina!” 

“Where are you?” cried a fresh and musical voice. 

“Here, my dear,” replied Ludovic as he jingled his 
bunch of keys. 

The jailer’s young, girl wife came running into the 
courtyard, and as she saw her husband she remarked, 
“I have sought you everywhere,” and then she pouted 
as she added, “it is so dull here — I do not know what 
to do.” 

The newcomer was a pretty and intelligent girl, not 
much older than seventeen years, with the dark eyes, 
olive skin, and classic Roman features seen in many 
parts of Italy. Scarcely more than a child in years, she 
had been married almost a year, and it was small 
wonder she was dull; for she had no companions and 
no occupation to amuse or interest her, and her condi- 
tion was not much better than that of the prisoners — 
confined in their cells. 

“Dull in Fenestrelle ? ” said the rather slow Ludovic, 
“You surprise me. Now, look at the excitement you 
have every day in your life. First, you see the guard 
changed every morning — then you go to church, and 
after that you see the pigeons fed.” 

“But that is all over by nine o’clock, and then ” 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


81 


Ludovic was at a loss and was still considering when 
Caterina went on, laughing as she did so — 

“And then I may twirl my thumbs forward and 
backward,” and here she illustrated the old and well- 
known recreation often indulged in when the mind is 
inactive or at rest. 

“But,” said Ludovic, eagerly, “you have forgotten 
the annual fair in the village.” 

“Once a year” — and she laughed heartily, for she 
had not yet lost her girlish spirits — “how very ex- 
citing ! ’ ’ 

“Then you have your walks,” added Ludovic. 

“What walks? Has not Governor St. Remy said 
that the jailer’s wife must not see, or be seen by, the 
prisoners, and as all the cells are occupied, there is not 
a single courtyard I can walk in — just that gloomy old 
walk,” and here she pouted again, “from the kitchen 
to the guard house.” 

“That reminds me,” said Ludovic, “the governor 
would reprimand me if he saw you here. It is against 
orders — so if you want me to keep my place, please 
obey the governor’s commands.” 

“He is a heartless, old monster,” said Caterina, de- 
fiantly. 

Ludovic looked around uneasily towards the cell 
fronting on the courtyard, and motioning towards it, 
placed his hand on his young wife’s arm kindly, saying 
“Hush!” 

But Caterina was rebellious that morning, and she 
went on — “I will speak. What harm can be done by 
the poor prisoners seeing me through their barred 
windows? And this ‘number thirty-nine,’ ” she went 
on, pointing to the cell, “who you said was brought 
here five years ago — who is he, Ludovic? What is he 


82 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


like? Is he young?” Then in a melancholy voice she 
added, “Your wife will die of grief if she cannot have 
something to occupy her mind. ’ ’ 

“I am not allowed to talk about the prisoners,” re- 
plied the puzzled jailer. “Come now, you really must 
be off ; if the governor or any of his servants should see 
you here — what would happen?” 

Before Caterina could reply, a noise was plainly 
heard from the cell as of some one stirring about 
within. Ludovic became very uneasy and gently 
pushed his young wife towards the causeway; while 
she, pouting and reluctant, resisted so as to tease him. 

Just as they reached the yard end of the road, 
Caterina threw her arms around Ludovic ’s neck, and, 
almost in tears, said, “Oh, Ludovic! I am so lonely.” 

The distressed husband patted her cheek — “Come, 
cheer up, little one. I will go with you. I shall have 
to start on my prisoners’ breakfast ‘round’ ” — saying 
which he put his arm around the young girl’s waist, 
to comfort her, as they went off together. 

The sounds from the cell now became louder, and the 
occupant approached the large and open-barred win- 
dow to look out on the morning. 

Yes, it was Charney. Pale and thin, and with that 
despondent and hopeless expression that the prisoner 
soon learns to wear. And what were his thoughts as 
he gazed on the sunny valley in the distance? 

“Another day — like yesterday — the day before, and 
every other day. No event to break the crushing 
monotony. The shadow cast by the sun will slowly re- 
volve till night; then will come evening clouds, the 
moon and the stars and that merciful boon — sleep. 
Shall I, like thousands of others, spend my life in 
prison till my hair grows white and memory decays; 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


83 


or, like others, shall I lose my reason and meet un- 
timely death in the prime of life ? ’ ’ 

He placed his hands high up on the bars of his win- 
dow and looked out long and fixedly. At last he turned 
and left the window in despair. 

He did not hear the approaching footsteps on the 
causeway — they were too light, for it was Caterina, 
the young wife of the jailer. She turned, when half- 
over the length of the road, and looked back to make 
sure she was unobserved. She then drew near on tiptoe, 
but had only advanced a step or two when she became 
frightened and again stopped to look back. Being re- 
assured, she advanced stealthily to the cell door and 
flattening herself against it, listened intently. 

“There is no harm,” she thought, “in seeing what 
he is like.” 

She stooped down and looked through the keyhole. 
She then stood erect and looked along the causeway for 
a moment. Being satisfied she was safe, she stooped 
down again, bent a knee and gazed again long and 
earnestly. Then she rose. 

“Poor fellow,” she thought — “So young! So hand- 
some ! ’ ’ 

The ringing sound of the breakfast bugle here 
warned her of the hour, and startled, she immediately 
ran off as fast as she could. 

Charney, unaware of the interest he had excited, here 
reappeared at the window and again looked out. 

“The welcome breakfast bugle,” he thought, — “a 
breakfast that the chiffonnier of Paris would refuse, 
and yet here am I, the former man of wealth and posi- 
tion — glad to eat it.” 

He heard the sound of footsteps, for Ludovic was 


84 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


coming along the causeway with his breakfast of brown 
bread and coffee. 

“Good morning, Count/ ’ said the jailer, as he drew 
near and noticed Charney at his cell window; and 
placing the breakfast on a stool that stood outside, he 
unlocked the cell door. 

“How are you, good Ludovic?” said Charney from 
the doorway. 

“Well as ever, I thank you — and do you sleep well?” 

“Why, yes! There is nothing else to do, and so, of 
course, I sleep.” 

Charney took the platter from Ludovic ’s hand and 
retired inside to eat. The jailer sat down on the stool 
and faced across the door as he conversed with the 
Count. 

Charney spoke from within. “If only I could have 
pen, ink and paper, I believe I should become recon- 
ciled to my imprisonment.” 

“I told the governor what you asked,” replied 
Ludovic. “He said that if you address him a petition 
in writing, he will supply writing material for that 
purpose, and later he will take your petition into con- 
sideration. ’ ’ 

“Does he think for a moment that I, Count Charney, 
would petition a hireling of the odious despot, Bona- 
parte. Never!” 

“Well, Count Charney — excuse me. I am only a 
plain, unlettered man and I have not your intelligence, 
but it seems to me that if I wanted anything badly I 
should throw pride away, write petitions by the score, 
sign myself ( your humble petitioner and take any steps 
required to get what I wanted. ’ ’ 

“You do not understand, my good Ludovic.” 

“Your pardon, Count. I do understand you want 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


85 


writing material. You can get it by writing a petition 
to the governor. You will not do this — therefore you 
do not want it very badly.” 

“ Well-reasoned, but you have said enough, my kind- 

hearted jailer Alas! it takes more than a few 

years in prison to humble a man’s pride,” the Count 
thought — then resuming, he added, “There, I have had 
all I want to eat this morning.” 

“Will you try the dinner today?” 

“No — good Ludovic. The fare is too coarse, I can- 
not get accustomed to it yet.” 

“Very well,” said Ludovic, as he went in to bring 
away the mug and platter. “I leave your door open 
for your daily exercise, as usual, Count. You will not 
forget that you are not to go out of this courtyard. ’ ’ 

“I appreciate this privilege too much to abuse it, nor 
would I repay your kindness by getting you into 
trouble,” the Count replied. 

Ludovic went off, carrying his load in one hand and 
swinging his keys noisily with the other, as was his 
wont. 

The courtyard was really a pleasant place in summer 
time, for although it was paved with large flags and 
was exposed to the glare of the sun from morning till 
night, it was elevated and quite open to the breeze. The 
high wall on the left afforded some shelter from the 
morning sun, and Charney could retire to his cell to 
escape its direct rays from noon to the early afternoon. 
After that, there was shelter from the west in the open 
space between his cell and the long eastern wall. This 
last shelter had proved to be the coolest spot in the 
height of the summer. It was only open to the direct 
rays of the sun for a short time each day, and on the 
other side of the long wall previously referred to, a 


86 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


high tower wing gave additional shelter from the morn- 
ing sun. 

In the yard there was a rough wooden bench, and on 
this Charney could sit when tired of exercising him- 
self by walking about in the limits of his enclosure. 

Directly the jailer had gone, the Count commenced 
to take his morning exercise; but soon tiring of this, 
he sat down, looked over the valley and became 
absorbed in thought. So profound was his reverie, he 

failed to notice the little “pat” “pat” that 

drew nearer and nearer ; for Caterina was again 
approaching. This time she did not appear to be so 
nervous, for she advanced without looking back once. 
She was playing with a battledore and shuttlecock and 

the “pat” “pat” was the sound made by the 

parchment bat as it struck the feathered shuttlecock 
lightly, and made it rebound in the air. Caterina was 
evidently proficient in this solitary amusement, for she 
deftly kept the shuttlecock in the air while still advanc- 
ing with a little tripping run. Her back was towards 
the bench and consequently she failed to notice its 
occupant. She evidently expected to see the prisoner 
at his cell window, and with the artless coquetry of 
youth she doubtless intended he should see her; for 
she played on steadily with the intention of passing 
and re-passing the cell window. 

Directly she came near the open door she gave a cry 
of surprise — her shuttlecock dropped to the ground and 
she turned quickly towards the bench upon which she 
now saw Charney sitting. 

The young Count gazed at her with interest and 
surprise. 

“Oh!” exclaimed the astonished young girl — “I beg 
your pardon, sir; I did not mean to disturb you.” 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


87 


Charney rose and addressed her politely. “Ah! 
Mademoiselle, to what happy chance do I owe the pleas- 
ure of your presence here ? ’ ’ 

“I am Caterina, sir, the wife of Ludovic the jailer,’ ’ 
and here she bowed smilingly and with a respectful 
courtesy. 

“And my kind-hearted jailer allows his charming 
young wife to come and cast a gleam of sunshine on the 
poor prisoner’s life?” 

“Not so, sir” — said the young girl hastily — “My 
husband does not know — he must never know I have 
seen you, or spoken to you — most serious results would 
follow. ’ ’ 

“Then why are you here, my child?” said Charney, 
with almost paternal kindness, placing his hand on her 
shoulder. “Retire before any harm befalls you.” 

“Ah!” she replied, coquettishly, “my presence dis- 
pleases you, then — you drive me away.” 

“Do not say so, for to see you and talk with you 
these few moments has already lightened the prisoner ’s 
gloom. But you must think of yourself, and I cannot 
detain you here for it may bring you into trouble.” 

“Ludovic will be in waiting on the governor for an 
hour, or more, ’ ’ replied the young girl, ‘ ‘ and I do want 
to know about Paris, for I feel sure you come from 
there.” 

Charney brought the stool from the cell door, and 
placing it near, he sat down on his bench, saying as he 
did so — “Come then; sit here for a short while. Yes, I 
am from Paris and I can understand you are very dull 
in this lonely place — ask me freely what you would 
know.” 

Caterina sat down on the stool and crossed her 


88 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


hands. Pray excuse a young woman’s curiosity,’ ’ she 
began — “I have not learned your name.” 

“My name is Charney,” he smilingly replied. “You 
may call me Count Charney, and I shall call you 
Caterina, if I may. You are too young and girlish to 
be called Madame!” 

“Charney!” she mused aloud — “what a nice name. 
Then, looking up quite pleased, she added, “Certainly 
you may call me Caterina,” and here she drew her 
stool a little nearer to carry on the conversation with 
greater ease. “I think we shall get along together 
splendidly,” she remarked in joyful anticipation — 4 But 
first, Count Charney, I want to know about you. Were 
you happy in Paris?” 

The young Count fell into a sad reverie, but after a 
moment replied, ‘ ‘ I was neither happy nor sad. I lived 
without appreciation of life. I was wealthy, without 
real enjoyment. I associated with many, but had no 
friends. Ah!” he added, remembering — “Yes, I had 
one friend. Poor fellow! Where is he now?” 

“This sounds very gloomy. Perhaps you were dis- 
appointed in love,” she remarked archly. 

“I have never been in love.” 

“Oh, how nice!” she cried, — “I mean how sad,” she 
corrected. “What a poor life you have lived. I 
thought wealth brought happiness. ’ ’ 

“That does not follow,” he said gloomily. 

“Why not, Count Charney? If I were to become 
rich, I should take my husband to a beautiful part of 
our beloved Italy, and there we should have a pretty 
vineyard with a cozy, white cottage on the slope of a 
hill, and a garden of beautiful flowers in front. Then 
there would be a little pony and chaise, and I should 
drive into the city, visit the shops and buy beautiful 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


89 


dresses — Oh! we should be so happy! But, Count 
Charney ; if you were wealthy and not happy, and yet 
not in love, you must have had a sorrow or something 
on your mind that prevented you from enjoying life?” 

“I am afraid I had, and that I still have it — it is 
pride. And perhaps I have gradually become selfish 
without knowing it.” 

“What is pride?” 

‘ ‘ The governor of this fortress has a sister ; does she 
speak kindly when she meets you?” 

‘ 4 Oh, no ! — she never notices me. I understand that 
kind of pride — but you said you were proud, and I 
meant in what way did your pride show ? ’ * 

“In about the same way,” he replied. “I enjoyed 
health and wealth and was not grateful for it. In fact, 
no thought of the kind ever occurred to me. I took no 
notice of those who came in daily contact with me — 
children with their prattle and play came near, but I 
never noticed them.” 

“Why, Count Charney, who would believe you have 
been such a selfish man? But I can see, from the way 
you speak, that you regret such a life, and wnen the 
glad day of your release comes, you must remember 
little Caterina’s advice — to love everybody and every- 
thing, and be happy.” 

“Your kind heart enables you to speak wisely. But 
tell me about yourself! You are happy, are you not?” 

Caterina sighed. “Alas! No!” she said, “it is so 
dull here — I shall pine away.” 

“But you have the kind and good Ludovic for your 
husband. ’ ’ 

“Oh, well — he is all right as a husband, but I need 
some one to talk to — to tell me what I do not know; 
and Ludovic, when he comes in at night, does nothing 


90 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


but puff great clouds of tobacco smoke up the chim- 
ney. Oh! Count Charney,” the ingenuous and lonely 
girl cried, “if only my husband could be more like 
you — how happy I should be,” and here she earnestly 
placed her hand on his arm and looked for his reply. 

“Be content, little Caterina,” said the Count, taking 
her hand and smoothing it as one would the hand of a 
child looking for sympathy, “perhaps you are happier 
as you are. But you really must go now,” and here 
he rose and patted her hand encouragingly, “and you 
can ask me your questions about Paris another time.” 

The impulsive girl jumped up, and seizing the young 
Count’s hand, kissed it, as she exclaimed joyfully — 
i ‘ Then I may come again and talk with you ? ’ ’ 

“Yes,” was the disappointing reply, “but for your 
own sake, much as I shall regret it, next time must be 
the last.” 

This was too much for the young girl, who had never 
talked with any one so handsome, so well-informed and 
so courteous as the young Count. She was lonely. She 
thirsted for information and knowledge of the outside 
world. She had liked Charney the first time she looked 
at him through the keyhole. In her enthusiasm she had 
believed her lonely life was to be brightened by stolen 
interviews and pleasant talks with this young man. 
She had no thought of any harm that might come to 
her. And so, when she was told her next visit would 
be the last, she grew pale, and her eyes, at first fully 
opened, now became half-closed, and she appeared to be 
fainting. In fact, she was just sinking and about to 
fall when Charney compassionately received her in his 
arms and supported her. “Poor girl,” he remarked, 
“I was too abrupt. Whatever shall I do?” 

Caterina slowly recovered and at last rested her hand 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


91 


on the young Count’s shoulder. “I was a little 
faint I shall soon he better if I can walk.” 

Charney placed his arm around her waist, and she 
partly supported herself with one hand on his shoulder. 
Together they walked back and forward a few times. 
She soon recovered and at last said, “I feel better now, 
Count Charney, forgive me for causing you this 
trouble. ’ ’ 

“I am so glad you are better, little Caterina, for 
now, — ” 

4 4 Yes, I know,” and she tried to smile — “You mean 
that you want me to go, do you not ? ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I mean that you are running a great risk by remain- 
ing here longer, and if your husband, — ” 

“Oh! bother my husband,” cried the disappointed 
young girl, and picking up the things she had dropped 
by the cell door, she threw the shuttlecock high in air, 
and, deftly catching it in its descent, she gave it a tre- 
mendous drive with her bat and went off as she had 
entered, batting the shuttlecock in erratic flight as she 
skipped along the causeway. 

Charney watched her disappear. ‘ 4 Poor young girl, ’ ’ 
he thought as he resumed his seat, “it is wrong to shut 

her up in this lonely place and now to return 

to my lonely life; for if little Caterina comes back, I 
must tell her she cannot come again. Her presence 
has brightened the day, and I feel more cheerful, and 
yes, more resigned to my captivity. But I must not 
be selfish and consider myself only. If I allow her to 
visit me — harm will come of it. It must not be,” — and 
here he rose with resolution and walked to and fro 
with his hands behind his back as he continued this 
train of thought. His eyes were bent on the ground, 


92 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


and almost unconsciously he continued his exercise, his 
mind gradually turning to thoughts of the past. 

In passing the center of the yard he noticed a little 
green shoot, springing up from a crack between two 
of the flagstones. It does not take much to interest a 
prisoner, confined, as Charney was, without books or 
any means of occupying his time. The young Count 
stopped, went down on one knee and examined it 
closely. He got up as he thought “it is only a little 
shoot, a weed, or blade of lank grass.” Following his 
first impulse he was about to set his foot on it to 
destroy it, and in fact, he lifted one foot with the inten- 
tion of stamping on the fragile shoot. He hesitated as 
he thought — “why destroy anything that is harmless? 
— how do I know it is useless? I will not destroy — ” 
and here he drew his foot back — “but rather will 
watch, tend, water and shelter it from the cool night 
air.” Here he went to his cell and came back with a 
tin cup of water. Again going on one knee he watered 
the shoot carefully. “This may become a plant,” he 
thought, as he stood and looked at it again. “Perhaps 
it will bloom. It will be a comfort, an occupation to 
see it grow and unfold, and yes — perhaps it comes to 
save a poor prisoner from madness.” He went into 
his cell to replace the cup, and as he came out he was 
met by Caterina who came running in gaily — her 
battledore in one hand, the shuttlecock in the other. 

“Such luck, Count Charney,” she cried, “my hus- 
band will be busy for one whole hour, helping to pre- 
pare the supper ‘round/ and here I am back to — ” 
She paused for a moment and then laughingly con- 
cluded — “to hear more about Paris.” She picked up 
the stool and went to place it near the bench. 

“Take care of my garden, little Caterina,” the Count 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


93 


hastily cried, as he saw she was dangerously near the 
newly-discovered shoot. 

Caterina stopped and looked all around, and even up 
in the air, but she could see no sign of a garden. “Your 
garden!” she cried, and then she thought, — “they say 
it is a common thing for prisoners to become demented 
— poor fellow; is his mind becoming affected already?” 

“You see this precious plant,” Charney said, point- 
ing to the lonely blade, — “I have just watered it, and 
I am going to tend it until it bursts into a beautiful 
flower,” he concluded with enthusiasm. 

“It looks like grass to me,” said Caterina, looking 
at it closely; “but never mind; if you want to cherish 
it. You must tell Ludovic, and he will water it for you 
and see that it comes to no harm.” 

“Yes, Ludovic is kind, and he will do this for me — 
but that reminds me I have something to say to 
you. Sit here, little Caterina.” 

The young girl was delighted. She ran and put 
down the battledore and shuttlecock against the wall, 
and then took her seat on the stool. “I know it will 
be something nice,” she smilingly remarked, looking 
up at the Count’s handsome face with girlish admira- 
tion. 

“Be not too sure, Caterina,” he replied, putting his 
hand on her head, “but what I have to say is for your 
own good, so listen carefully.” He continued impres- 
sively, “this must be your last visit — you must not 
come here again.” 

“I see how it is,” said Caterina as she rose sadly; 
“You must positively hate me — you are so anxious to 
get rid of me.” 

Charney drew the stool nearer, and taking the young 
girl’s hand in his, he gently seated her, still retaining 


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her hand. ‘‘No, Caterina, how could any one hate 
you — nor is it that I wish you away, for your presence 
has cheered the gloomy, prison day — but I am thinking 
of your husband.’’ 

“Don’t be too anxious about him, he can take care 
of himself — let us talk of something else,” she replied. 

“No! Caterina, it cannot be. I am resolved that no 
harm shall come to you, and that nothing of my doing 
shall bring unhappiness to you or Ludovic. So pre- 
pare to say good-bye, for this is our last meeting.” 

‘ ‘ Our last ! ’ ’ she said, grasping his hand sorrowfully. 

“Yes, the last — for your coming here is attended 
with great danger to you. Should it be discovered, the 
whole fortress would point the finger of scorn at you, 
and I am determined you shall not run the risk.” 

Caterina had been thinking, for she suddenly 
exclaimed — “I shall set my woman’s wit at work. 
Ludovic likes you. I can gradually influence him to 
let me bring your meals, so that we can talk together, 
often; won’t that be nice” — she added in glee. 

“You must not do that — you know it is impossible. 
If the governor heard of it, your husband would be dis- 
missed in disgrace. And besides, little Caterina, I 
could not allow it — it would not be right.” 

The young girl hung her head with sorrow, and then 
looking up she naively said, — “how good they must be 
in Paris, Count Charney.” 

“It is not goodness,” replied Charney, “it is a dis- 
tinct question of right and wrong. There is only one 
course you can take.” 

Caterina became very sad, and Charney, noticing it, 
tried to cheer her. 

“Who knows but that in time your husband may 
bring you here with him.” 


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95 


“And would you be glad to see me?” the young girl 
asked, looking up with tears in her eyes. 

“Certainly, why not?” he said encouragingly. 

Caterina suddenly started up with a look of alarm, 
for she had heard the noise of approaching footsteps. 
“What was that?” she cried in agitation. 

Charney went and looked along the causeway. “It 
is Ludovic,” he replied; “your husband — he is coming 
here.” 

“Oh; what shall I do? If he finds me here, he will 
never forgive me.” 

“Quick,” cried Charney, “you must hide.” 

“Where can I hide — Alas! why did I stay too long?” 
She looked about her in great distress and suddenly 
noticed the cell with its door partly open. She hastily 
entered, just in time to close the door after her as 
Ludovic came into the courtyard, bearing Charney ’s 
supper in his hands. 

“Here I am, Count, with your supper; have you an 
appetite?” 

“Not at present, good Ludovic.” 

“I shall put it on your table so that you can eat 
when you are ready,” and the jailer advanced to the 
cell door. 

But Charney ran and grasped him before he could 
enter, and pulling the surprised jailer towards the 
bench, he exclaimed, — “put my supper here, good 
Ludovic” — indicating the stool — “I have something to 
say to you.” 

“To me, Count!” said the jailer as he put down the 
supper on the stool, “are your meals not served regu- 
larly — is your cell not kept in order — I may have over- 
looked something. I must go and see.” Saying this, 
he started off again with the intention of entering the 


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cell, but Charney seized his arm and dragged him back 
again to near the bench. 

The young Count now placed his right hand on 
Ludovic ’s shoulder; and the jailer, understanding 
that Charney had more to tell him, stood still to listen. 

‘‘You have been very kind to me, good Ludovic — ” 
and here he agitated his left hand behind him as a 
signal for Caterina to steal away while he held her 
husband in conversation. 

Caterina peeped out of the door in a frightened man- 
ner and seemed to be preparing to make the venture, 
but at that moment Ludovic half-turned towards the 
Count to hear his further remarks, and the young 
wife became afraid, and hastily shut the door. 

Charney continued, “and I want to thank you very 
much — ” 

“ Oh ! that is all right, Count Charney, and if that is 
what you wanted to tell me, I had better put your 
supper in your cell and close you up for the night/ ’ 

The young Count was now quite distressed, for he 
remembered it was time for Ludovic to make his last 
trip to close up the cells of those prisoners who, like 
himself, were allowed exercise and some measure of 
freedom through the day. He again agitated his hand 
behind him, but this time more urgently than before. 

The door of the cell was again partly opened, but 
was quickly shut-to, almost at once, for the jailer had 
again turned towards Charney. 

“That is not all, my good Ludovic,’ ’ said the now 
desperate Charney — “I want you to notice my plant.” 

Ludovic looked puzzled — “What plant?” he said. 

Charney led Ludovic by the arm and pointed to his 
shoot. The jailer got down on one knee to examine it 
— his back to the cell door. The young Count here 


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97 


noticed the tell-tale battledore and shuttlecock on the 
ground, not far from the cell. He went quickly and 
picked them up, and holding them behind him, his 
back to the wall, he sidled along to the cell door and 
passed them in to Caterina — first shaking them behind 
him, as he stood at the door, to attract her attention. 
After a moment’s delay she took the articles in, and 
Charney, motioning with his hand behind him to urge 
her immediate escape, rejoined Ludovic, who, fortun- 
ately had not noticed the little performance. 

Ludovic was busy talking to himself — 4 ‘his plant — 
Ha! Ha!” he laughed good-humouredly, — “Why, 
Count, this is nothing but grass! What notions pris- 
oners do get in their heads, to be sure.” He drew 
Charney over towards the front parapet, for the in- 
cident of the plant had brought to mind his favorite 
train of thought — the peculiarities of his prisoners. 
“What notions prisoners do get in their heads, to be 
sure,” he repeated — “Did I tell you about ‘number 
eighteen’?” 

Charney shook his head and again signalled, behind 
him for Caterina to make her escape. Surely no better 
chance could be hoped for, but so far, she had not had 
courage to make the attempt. 

Ludovic went on — “I did not tell you — well, he had 
the idea that he could fly, and for hours every day he 
could be seen practicing thus,” and here the jailer 
imitated with both arms the moving of wings up and 
down. “Now,” went on Ludovic, laughing, “if his 
body had been as light as his head, he could have gone 

up without wings And there is the old 

prisoner in the tower yonder.” Here he turned and 
pointed to the tower rising on the other side of Char- 
ney ’s eastern wall. 


98 


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Unfortunately for poor little Caterina, she was on the 
point of escaping and was almost out of the cell door. 
She heard the sentence and instinctively felt the ap- 
proaching gesture in her direction, and she was just 
able to avoid detection by the quickness of her move- 
ments in retiring within the cell and pushing-to the 
door. 

“Well/’ continued Ludovic, after indicating the lo- 
cation of the old tower prisoner — “His hobby is 
spiders. He catches and tames them. He has a micro- 
scope, and he spends the whole day keeping a keen 
watch over their habits. And now you take your turn, 
Count, with your blade of grass. What do you want 
me to do with it?” 

“It is not grass, Ludovic — it is a plant. ’ ’ 

Ludovic laughed heartily and with good humor. 
“Doubtless it will grow ever so high” — and here he 
indicated a great height — “and it will have branches, 
leaves and flowers.” The picture was too absurd, and 
Ludovic laughed more heartily than before. 

“Perhaps it will,” said Charney, distractedly, his 
mind on Caterina ’s plight. “At any rate, if it does 
grow, it will give me occupation to watch and tend it. ’ ’ 

Ludovic laughed again. 

“You will not destroy it, good Ludovic,” said Char- 
ney earnestly. 

“Not if you wish to save it, Count Charney. Why 
should a prisoner be denied his harmless little wish. I 
place your stool here to remind me — ” and here he 
placed the stool over the shoot — “and in the morning 
you shall have sticks and twine to fence in your 
garden. But I have already stayed too long, and I 
must close you up for the night. ’ ’ 

Now Charney had just looked to his left, and had 


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99 


seen Caterina out of the cell and about to start off on 
tip-toe. He became cheerful, for he felt sure that this 
time Caterina was off. He turned immediately to 
Ludovic to engage his attention and thus assist in the 
young wife’s escape. As ill-luck would have it, how- 
ever, just at that moment the escaping girl had heard 
Ludovic ’s words, and anticipating his movement, she 
barely managed to retreat headlong into the cell before 
he turned to address the Count. 

“Come, Count, it must be good-night and pleasant 
dreams to you. Shall I put your supper inside for you ? 
Do you want anything before I go?” 

Charney was cheerful now, for he felt he had suc- 
ceeded in covering the retreat of little Caterina — “I 
have kept you too long, as it is,” he said, and picking 
up his supper he went to his cell. “I want nothing 
more — Good night!” — saying which, he went in and 
closed the door behind him. 

Ludovic locked the door, and swinging his bunch of 
keys as usual, started off along the causeway. He had 
not gone two steps before Charney appeared at the 
window of his cell, and in agitated tones called after 
him. 

“Oh! good Ludovic, one favor more, I beg,” and 
then in earnest tones, “please leave my door unlocked 
tonight so that I may take the night air.” 

“Oh! Come, Count Charney — you are losing your 
mind. I certainly have not lost mine. Good-night — 
and he turned to go. 

‘ ‘ Ludovic ! Oh ! Ludovic. Good Ludovic, ’ ’ the Count 
cried in pleading tones — ‘ ‘ come here. ’ ’ 

But Ludovic started off, and as he went he thought, 
“I must keep a watch on him — his mind is going — 


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and he jingled his bunch of keys to drown Charney’s 
entreaties and supplications. 

He had gone! And Charney and Caterina were 
locked in the cell together for the night. 


CHAPTER VII. 


G OVERNOR ST. REMY sat in his chair, in the 
office or reception room of the fortress, en- 
gaged in going over the monthly accounts 
of commissariat supplies which had been 
prepared for him by his secretary. 

It was the governor’s business to see that these ac- 
counts were correct before transmitting them to head- 
quarters. He liked this kind of work. It suited his 
taste for items and minute details, and it was much 
more agreeable to him than the severe work of gallop- 
ing about on horseback, directing the movements of 
troops in the field. 

He was very particular about trifles. Any other man 
holding a similar position would have left all small 
matters to his subordinates ; but the governor could not 
do this, for he delighted in divisions and sub-divisions. 
It often happened, therefore, that the merest trifles 
would occupy his mind for days, while matters of im- 
portance were neglected or overlooked. 

The governor went over the figures before him, 
again and again. He was angry that his secretary’s 
work was so correct — it gave him no opportunity of 
calling him up to berate him soundly. Each month of 
his incumbency as governor of Fenestrelle he had ap- 
proached the work on which he was now engaged with 
an eager feeling of hope and expectancy. Each time he 
thought, “this time I will catch him,” and each time he 
found all correct. It was very annoying. He was 
much given to reprimanding his inferiors with severe 
and scathing words. He leaned back in his chair, sore 
and disappointed, for no fault could be found with the 


101 


102 


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papers before him. He would have to wait, and pos- 
sibly next time he would find an error. If he did, the 
unlucky secretary should surely feel the full weight of 
his accumulated wrath. 

To name the governor’s faults it is only necessary 
to enumerate his virtues; for he carried his better 
qualities to such extremes that they became glaring 
and serious defects. He was neat and tidy — painfully 
so. He had his own inkstand, his pens and his blotting- 
paper, which no one else must touch. The inkstand had 
to be exactly in the center of the length of his desk 
and a certain distance back from his writing-pad. His 
pen had to repose in one definite place, with its point 
to his right, and the writing-pad had to be in the 
center, squared in perfect alignment with the front 
edge of the desk. If any of these conditions were 
varied, the general could not do one stroke of work 
until the fault was remedied. He had often been seen 
to take out an ivory foot-rule, kept for this purpose, 
and measure the position of articles on his desk to see 
that all were correctly placed. 

His inkstand was not hinged — it had a removable 
top, or cap. He kept a small mat on his table upon 
which he placed the cover of the inkstand when the 
ink was in use. The inkstand cap was square and so 
was the mat, and when removing the cap he would 
invariably place it with exact precision in the center 
of the mat — not at random, but with the edges of cap 
and mat exactly parallel. 

He had a place for everything, and if anything got 
out of its place he was almost a nervous wreck — he 
could not work until the wrong was righted. The in- 
cident of the general’s penwiper was still fresh in the 
memory of his sister Angelique. One morning when he 


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103 


sat down to attend to his correspondence and reports, 
the penwiper was missing — it could not he found. A 
diligent but fruitless search was made for it in every 
likely place. The general gave up his work — he could 
do nothing without his penwiper. The next day his 
sister placed a new one on his desk, exactly like the 
old one. He would not use it. After several days of 
continued search, the general almost frantic, and his 
sister in a condition bordering on hysteria, the missing 
article was found under the tray of the inkstand on the 
governor’s desk. After this episode it took a few days 
of calm and rest before St. Remy could again settle 
down to his work. 

Nearly every one is the unconscious owner of some 
peculiarity rendering him the subject of amusement to 
his discriminating friends. 

General St. Remy was no exception to the rule. He 
was a believer in daily exercise, and so he went out for 
his regular walk every day of the week, including Sun- 
day. He had seven routes he had prepared, after be- 
coming acquainted with the district, and these he 
termed “route A,” “route B,” “route C,” etc. On 
Monday he took route A. On Tuesday he went by 
route B, and so on — never varying the order. All of 
these walks included the main street of the village. 
The sidewalks of the street, like the courtyards of the 
fortress, were paved with rough flagstones, and they 
were of such width that a pedestrian of average height 
had to take more than one step, and less than two, to 
go from one stone to the next. Others had not noticed 
this, nor would it have given them trouble if they had. 
General St. Remy, however, had an objection to step- 
ping on cracks — he thought it unlucky — and so, both 
in the fortress and on the main street of the village, he 


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could be seen taking two short regular steps for each 
flagstone. He thus presented quite an odd appearance, 
for as soon as he had passed over the obstacles his 
long and swinging military step would be resumed. 

Another peculiarity he indulged in was to count his 
steps, and always limit them to the same number in 
going over well-known parts of the route, and still an- 
other was his habit of touching every other tree, every 
third, or every fourth, as he passed. If by any chance 
he overlooked one, he would at once retrace his steps 
to correct the omission. 

Punctuality is an admirable trait, but admiration of 
it may go too far. Here again the general was so 
thorough that he kept every one about him in constant 
dread. Punctual men must either possess or have 
access to a reliable time-keeper, such as a clock or 
watch. The governor was very found of clocks and 
timepieces and he had one of these useful meters in 
every apartment that he or his sister used. He spent 
hours in regulating and adjusting to make them ac- 
complish the almost impossible feat of keeping their 
hands together. In the reception room, where the gov- 
ernor spent most of his time when indoors, stood a fine 
clock which chimed the hours, half-hours and quarters. 
This was his favorite, — the master-clock of all. He 
owned a valuable Berthoud pocket chronometer, and 
this he sent over to the observatory at Turin, once a 
month, to be corrected. He set his master-clock by 
the time thus obtained, and all the other timepieces 
had to keep pace with it as well as they could. At 
those periods of the day when the minute hand was 
drawing near its hourly goal of twelve, the general 
would suspend work, and gazing with rapt expression, 
would drink in the music of the chimes and the fuller 


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105 


and deeper tones that followed as the hours were tolled 
out in solemn measure. The general’s sister, Angelique, 
would join him in the reception room at odd times in 
the afternoon, and they generally spent their evenings 
together in the same room. Neither of them cared for 
company very much, but at times there would be guests 
in the evening, and once a month there was a regular re- 
ception for the officers of the district and their wives. 
No matter who was present, nor how earnest the con- 
versation might be — when the beloved clock gave the 
preparatory whirring sound just before striking the 
hour, the general would look impressively around and 
Angelique would hold up her hand with an involuntary 
“Sh!” This was followed by an immediate and im- 
pressive silence — for all knew the meaning of the 
signals they had seen so often. Not until the last echo 
had died away would conversation be resumed. So well 
was this known that everyone talked by the clock, so 
that if any one had a particularly good story to tell, he 
was careful to avoid the hourly interruption. The more 
clocks the general added to his collection, the more 
nervous he became, for they would never go olf all to- 
gether, although he worked hard to make them do so, 
and he suffered agony every hour as the clocks around 
would keep up their irregular striking before and after 
the master-clock had sounded the hour. 

The servants of the establishment soon learned the 
peculiarities of their master, and they did their best to 
please him ; although he was not the man to show ap- 
preciation of service well performed. It was under- 
stood that the meals must be served to the second. St. 
Remy would pass into the dining-room every day at 
five minutes before one o’clock, for they dined in the 
middle of the day, and with chronometer in hand he 


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would stand with his back to the fireplace — his eye on 
the door. Dinner would be placed on the table and 
Angelique would take her seat, to be in readiness. At 
ten seconds to one the general advanced to his chair, 
drawn out for him by an attendant, and just as the 
stroke of the hour resounded he would seat himself 
with military precision. 

The few visitors who came to Fenestrelle to see 
Angelique or her brother on short visits of a day or 
two, or a week at most, were fully aware of the length 
of their stay, for it was specified in the invitation they 
had received. The governor remembered to the 
minute the time of their arrival, and he kept a record 
to show when their time was up. If they forgot, or if 
inclement weather made travel disagreeable, they 
were politely reminded by St. Remy in some such well- 
chosen sentence as “I trust you have enjoyed your 
visit, we shall hope to see you again. 55 If the visitor 
did not give the proper indications of preparing for a 
journey, the sentence was varied somewhat, for the 
general then remarked, “I have sent down to reserve 
your place on the diligence, so that you will not be dis- 
appointed in getting a seat — it leaves at two o’clock/ 5 ' 
To which the polite visitor, of course, replied, “I am a 
thousand times obliged to you for your consideration- 
your grasp of detail is wonderful — you think of every- 
thing . 55 

Guests at the general’s table were careful of both 
their words and actions; for the slightest slip of the 
tongue, a mispronounced or misused word, or an incor- 
rect quotation, brought an immediate correction from 
the head of the table. He loved to set people right. It 
did not occur to him that he might hurt the feelings of 
his guests. Nor did it occur to him that there were a 


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107 


thousand departments of knowledge, that no one could 
be perfect in all, and that he himself was necessarily 
ignorant of many things upon which his guests were 
better informed. 

Outspoken people are supposed to he sincere and free 
from deceit. Perhaps they are; but their friends do 
not always value this sincerity as they should. Of a 
guest at the general’s table, who had indicated her 
desire for another glass of wine, it was remembered 
that he had replied, “You must he fond of wine — 
this will be your third glass.” 

The general was fond of one class of reading — 
fiction. His sister used to lend her books freely to 
her friends, and she was in the habit of borrowing any 
reading she thought likely to interest her brother or 
her. In his desire to set people right the general 
always read with a pencil in his hand, and all along 
the margins and at the top and bottom of the pages 
were scattered corrections and remarks. The word 
“will” was frequently crossed out and “shall” was 
pencilled above it. Whole lines and sentences had the 
obliterating pencil mark, and often written along the 
margin was a substitute sentence constructed in more 
correct form. The top and bottom of the page under 
criticism was reserved for such remarks as “how 
stupid!” — “absurd!” — “what could she expect!” — 
“ridiculous!” &c., and in some places where his ire had 
been roused by the character portrayed, or by the 
author’s style of description, the word “fool” would 
stand out boldly at the head of the page, followed by 
some such words as “what utter nonsense!” 

Needless to remark, the books left with the general 
soon became few in number, and in response to Angel- 
ique’s enquiries for more books from her friends, it 


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appeared that every one had stopped reading ; they had 
no books to lend. 

The governor’s predecessor at Fenestrelle had been 
a rough-and-ready soldier of a totally different type. 
Rarely indoors ; he delighted in constant and strenuous 
exertion. The men of the garrison force were put 
through all-day drill with gun, bayonet and sword. 
They marched and countermarched and made expedi- 
tions to distant points, carrying a week’s rations. They 
climbed hills, forded rivers and camped out in the 
snow. When there was nothing else to do they went 
through repository drill in the yard and on the fortifi- 
cations of Fenestrelle, dragging huge cannon from one 
point to another, stacking piles of ponderous cannon 
balls, and bringing up powder and shells from the un- 
derground magazines. Then there were artillery days, 
when the valleys around re-echoed with the boom of 
exploding cannon. This commandant had been a born 
soldier, cut out for field duty. Often in the dead of 
night the bugles had given out a warning call, and im- 
mediately the barracks began to pour out their eager 
occupants, one company striving to get ahead of an- 
other in being first to answer to the roll-call on the 
square. In this way the men were brought to such 
perfection in the duties of a soldier, that it was no 
wonder Napoleon heard of it from one of his generals 
when in the neighboring province of Lombardy. 
Shortly after that the active commandant and his 
whole force had been transferred to campaign duty 
with the victorious Army of Italy, and, ever since, they 
had been winning glory on the field of battle. 

The new garrison at Fenestrelle had an easy time, 
for Governor St. Remy cared nothing for field exercises, 
and he disliked drill. The officers and men soon found 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


109 


that if they attended to three things, they were left to 
do as they pleased. What were these three things? 
Well, Governor St. Remy’s idea of military duty was to 
see that his men had well-polished boots and nicely 
whitened belts, and he insisted on frequent coats of 
whitewash for the walls of the courtyard, the barracks 
and inner buildings generally. The general soon be- 
came known to his men as “Bootpolish, Pipeclay and 
Whitewash,” and soon the whole garrison became a 
huge boot-polishing brigade, for the men could be seen 
at all times assiduously polishing their footwear. Every 
morning the belts received a fresh application of pipe- 
clay, and wherever the eye roamed there were men 
with whitewash brushes, putting on a fresh coat of 
white. All this meant much less work than constant 
drilling, marching and dragging of huge guns ; and so, 
on the whole, the men were satisfied, and, in addition, 
amused. 

It only remains to be stated that St. Remy had a 
distinguished, soldierly bearing that made him very 
popular with women. He also had the old-fashioned 
courtesy and dignified manner that rendered ordinary 
intercourse with him very pleasant. In spite of his 
peculiarities, the principal families of the neighborhood 
were glad to call and associate with him; for the com- 
mandant of a garrison is always the distinguished lion 
of provincial society. 

The governor’s sister, Angelique, also had her little 
peculiarities ; but being a woman and not so aggressive 
as her brother, her friends had no difficulty in getting 
along with her. 

She was naturally stiff in her manner, very proud of 
her family and connections, and she almost worshipped 
her brother. Her walk was patterned somewhat on his, 


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for she carried herself erect and with soldierly bearing. 
In her intercourse with friends she was never familiar. 
She never addressed any lady as “my dear” and no one 
thought of calling her “Angelique” or even “Madem- 
oiselle Angelique” — she was always “Mademoiselle St. 
Remy. ’ ’ 

In spite of her stiffness of manner, she had a kind 
heart. She was passionately fond of animal pets and 
she spent much of her time in looking after her growing 
collection, which had commenced to assume the propor- 
tions of a menagerie ; for the soldiers in their walks and 
rambles through the surrounding country brought in 
everything they thought likely to please her. 

Although the soldiers spoke of her to each other as 
“the old girl,” they did not mean any disrespect — that 
was far from their thoughts. She was liked and re- 
spected by every man in the fortress, for she took a 
broad view of her duties, and when illness came she 
visited the clean little hospital in the corner of the 
main courtyard to cheer the sick, and leave little jellies 
and dainties for them, made by her own hand. She 
was a woman of few words. When she made a sick- 
call she would enquire “And how do you find yourself 
this morning?” After the patient had replied, she 
would take a seat by the bedside and remain fully ten 
minutes without speaking another word. She would 
then leave with the parting words, “You will soon be 
well.” If there were several in the sick ward at one 
time, as sometimes happened, she would go through the 
same course with each. The married soldiers and their 
wives were grateful to her, for as each new arrival 
came to swell their growing little families, clothing and 
delicacies were always at hand. She was the fairy 
godmother of Fenestrelle, and she ministered not only 


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111 


to the fortress but to the village and surrounding 
country as well. 

Strange to relate, outside of the officers’ wives, she 
never seemed to know any of the women when she 
met them; but she always acknowledged the military 
salutes of the men. None could account for this except 
by referring to the defect in her eyesight that was 
known to exist. She had received an injury to her left 
eye when a girl, that had necessitated its entire 
removal. A glass eye had taken its place. She had 
soon perceived that those talking to her could not 
remove their gaze from her fixed orb, which refused to 
accompany the motions of its live or active partner. 
It had a fascination that none could resist. This led to 
her constant use of a lorgnon with one smoked glass, 
and wherever she went she could be seen carrying this 
in front of her; for she could not use either pince-nez 
or spectacles. 

A few words are necessary here in relation to the 
financial position of France. Under Louis XVI. condi- 
tions had gone from bad to worse, and the army had 
been paid irregularly. Chaotic disorder characterized 
the revolutionary period, and the republican armies 
fought without pay and often with insufficient food and 
clothing. Napoleon was beginning to change all this, 
and better times were in sight ; but at this time General 
St. Remy had been without any regular pay for six 
years, and the drain on his savings had been very great. 
Lately he had been compelled to tighten the purse 
strings, more and more, and consequently his sister’s 
scanty allowance for household supplies had reached a 
point where she could hardly make ends meet. 

Almost the first thing she had noticed on arriving at 
their new home in Fenestrelle had been the pigeons 


112 


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flying about the courtyard looking for grain. In tak- 
ing walks and drives in the neighborhood she had 
noticed the frisky hares disappearing at various points 
along her way. She had also seen the fine-looking 
poultry in and about the village. 

In some way she could not afterwards remember, the 
idea came to her that she could probably help her 
brother by a plan that now occurred to her. She 
looked about carefully within the limits of the fortifi- 
cations and found there was ample room and that the 
place was really suitable for the purpose she had in 
mind. She determined to surprise her brother. She 
would keep pigeons, poultry and rabbits, and she 
decided not to tell him until she had everything 
arranged. With the aid of her brother’s secretary she 
commanded all the help required, and soon in a sunny 
corner of the fortifications, where a gate led out into 
the disused and grassy old moat of the citadel, a pond 
was made, proper enclosures were constructed, and all 
necessary preparations were completed. 

The live stock soon commenced coming. The pigeons 
were housed within the outer walls of an isolated and 
projecting wing that had been abandoned for some 
years. It was made clean and suitably partitioned. 
Soon could be heard the cooing of the birds gathered 
together in their new home, two or three at a time so 
that they should not fly away, and dragons, pouters 
with globular crops, fantails, jacobins, with heads 
buried in their hood feathers, trumpeters and perform- 
ing tumblers soon learned to live together amicably. 

In the poultry yard the speckled Anconas, blue 
Andalusians and black Minorcas walked proudly about 
surveying their new quarters, and they soon entered on 
their housekeeping duties in good earnest. The beauti- 


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113 


ful white Emden geese and their kindred of nobler 
proportions from Toulouse, walked back and forward 
in stately procession, while in the nearby pond the 
prolific Rouen ducks disported themselves, feet in air, 
catching frogs, or waddled to and from the pond with 
odd gravity. 

The rabbits had been made at home on an adjoining 
plateau, suitably protected, where they could burrow 
at will and shelter themselves beneath bush and furze. 
They were a merry lot of prankish little fellows, and 
if the stories told about their prolific multiplication 
were true, this would soon be a great center of activity. 

The men of the garrison were delighted with this 
innovation, and were eager to help. They all liked 
fresh eggs and poultry, and most of them were not 
averse to pigeon pie or roast goose, duck and rabbit. 
The venture was a success from the very first and 
brought in money beyond Angelique’s expectations. 
The boys from the married soldiers’ quarters cleaned 
the places and helped to feed the stock, and they went 
out and brought in chickweed and dandelion to keep 
the rabbits in good health. Everything seemed to 
thrive, and Angelique was delighted. She had man- 
aged to keep it from her brother, although fearing 
discovery every hour. The general had noticed his 
sister’s elation and he could not help observing that 
little delicacies, they had lately been unaccustomed to, 
began to appear on the table again. He felt there was 
something in the air, and so when his sister, braving 
his displeasure, asked him to come and see something 
new, he prepared to go, while he inwardly resolved to 
condemn it — whatever it was. 

To state it mildly, he was surprised. He could 
hardly believe the evidence of his senses. If his per- 


114 


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mission had been asked he would have put his foot 
down and said “no.” It was now an accomplished 
fact. It was too late to object. His sister enjoyed his 
confusion in her quiet, dignified way. She pointed out 
a fine-looking young fowl — “There,” she said, “you 
had one of that young brood for your dinner yesterday, 
and you said you had never tasted finer fowl.” The 
general said not a word, and his gratified sister knew 
what that meant — it was his way of “giving in” on 
those extremely rare occasions when he had been 
worsted or overcome by argument or fact. 

The “menagerie,” as it was called by the men, soon 
became very popular, and presents of other live ani- 
mals commenced to arrive. A young ibex or wild goat 
came first, and then a graceful little chamois and a 
young roe deer. Enclosures were made, birds and 
squirrels were added, and the place soon assumed a 
neat and park-like appearance. It was all done with 
so much good taste that it became the favorite walk of 
the neighborhood and the delight of young and old 
for miles around. 

Angelique kept two of her pets in the house — a little 
terrier and a parrot. At first they had been placed in 
the same room, at a distance from the general’s office, 
but the noise they made never ceased; for the dog 
would bark at the parrot and the parrot would swear 
vigorously to keep up her side of the argument. 

As soon as it became evident the dog would not run 
away, it was allowed to run about; but the general 
would permit no animal to come near him. The par- 
rot, lonely and deprived of its tormentor, soon became 
moody and silent, and Angelique thought it could be 
put with safety in the sunny end of the room adjoining 
her brother’s office. 


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115 


For an hour or more after Angelique had gone, the 
parrot behaved very well, but soon a fierce barking 
was heard under the window, and the bird woke up to 
life again as she swore roundly at her enemy. The 
dog ran off, but the angry general seized the parrot in 
its cage, took it out to the yard, put it under the water 
tap, and, turning on the water, he left Polly to her bath. 
It was hours before Angelique returned. The parrot 
was sodden and limp. It never revived, for the pro- 
longed bath undermined a constitution that had never 
been strong. 

Angelique now set her wits at work to plan some way 
by which she could bring her little terrier into the 
reception room at night when she sat with her brother. 
She enjoyed seeing it near her; and besides she had a 
shrewd idea that to prevent an accident, such as had 
happened to the parrot, it would be wise to try and 
get the little pet into her brother’s good graces. The 
dog was a knowing little animal, and with the help of 
one of the old veterans who had been a dog-fancier, 
she had gradually trained it to do a number of amus- 
ing tricks. He could walk, march and waltz on two 
legs, shake hands, beg, talk, pray and act “dead.” He 
could go through two hoops held widely apart, and 
with a little military coat and cap — and with a gun 
having a strap for his little paw — he could do soldiers’ 
drill at the word of command. This clever little dog 
had shown a persistent desire to bark fiercely when- 
ever the general’s footsteps were heard. By careful 
coaxing and training this serious defect had been cured, 
and now when he heard the well-known footsteps, he 
ran and tried to reach the general so as to sit up and 
proffer an extended paw. 

One night the general came in quite out of sorts 


116 


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about something — probably the supply of whitewash 
had run out. Angelique judged this to be the proper 
time to try the plan she had been forming. She sent 
for the old veteran, and after supper — her brother still 
in the blues — she introduced the dog for a diversion. 
Under his trainer ’s direction he performed with becom- 
ing zeal and enjoyment. For a wonder, the old gen- 
eral laughed till the tears came, and after the per- 
formance was over he excelled himself in condescen- 
sion, for he shook hands with the clever little actor, 
who seemed to understand that his place in the family 
circle was now assured. 

The old veteran was delighted with the victory his 
clever little charge had won, and he went off well satis- 
fied with the douceur the general had slipped into his 
hand. 

Angelique perceived that her plan had met with 
entire success, for her brother made no objection as her 
little pet took up a comfortable position on the hearth- 
rug. She was pleased with the success of her strate- 
gem, and she addressed her brother with the pet name 
she used for him when everything was going well — a 
diminutive of the word ‘general.’ 

“Genni,” she said, “you shall have three games of 
your favorite Bezique tonight,” and she drew the card- 
table near his comfortable arm-chair. One game had 
hitherto been all that she would play — she disliked 
cards, but felt it to be her duty to humor her brother 
in his favorite diversion. 

“Will you, Gelli?” replied the delighted general, 
using her pet name, a diminutive of ‘Angelique.’ 

It is a satisfactory victory when both victor and van- 
quished are equally pleased. And so we leave them at 
cards — the general flushed with the hope of winning all 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


117 


three games, and his sister secretly resolved on losing 
them, to please him; while the latest addition to the 
family circle watched with interest as he tried to under- 
stand the meaning of all that was going on before him. 


CHAPTER VIII 


I T was growing dusk over the valley of Fenestrelle, 
and Charney stood looking out of his cell win- 
dow in anxious thought. “I blame myself for 
this terrible mishap/’ he said, turning to Cater- 
ina, who stood with tears in her eyes — her hands 
clasped helplessly before her. 

“No, Count Charney, I alone am to blame — but you 
will get me out, won’t you?” she pleaded. “When my 
husband misses me — what will he think ? Oh ! I feel I 

can trust myself with you anywhere,” and she 

placed her hand on his. Then she burst out with a sob, 
“You must think of a plan, for if I am found here with 
you in the morning” — she paused and shuddered — 
“poor Caterina will kill herself.” 

“Come, be brave,” he said to cheer her, “all hope is 
not lost.” 

“Oh !” she cried, “you are a man. You are strong — 
you are brave — you are intelligent. Think well — devise 
some plan — get me out of this tonight — at any cost, so 
that no harm comes to me.” 

There was a long silence 

“Ah!” said Charney suddenly, “I have a plan.” 
“You have!” she joyfully exclaimed as she threw 
her arms about him. Oh, if it succeeds, I will call down 
blessings on you all my life.” 

“It must be put into execution at once. It is only a 
chance, but it is the best plan I can think of. Can you 
keep a clear mind, and later on, if all goes well, when 
you hear me speak certain words, will you leave this 
cell and make your escape without hesitation.” 


118 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


119 


“If you will tell me the words and explain your plan, 
I will disregard everything else and listen only to you. ’ r 

“And directly you hear the words you will go at 
once, no matter what danger threatens, relying on me, 
going slowly at first without looking to one side, and 
then running lightly and quickly along the causeway, 
until you are free.” 

“Yes! I shall remember all you have said — and the 
words, Count Charney, what are they?” 

“Hold the light lower, Ludovic he replied in 
impressive tones. 

“I shall remember, although I do not understand. ” 

“Never mind at present — later on you will under- 
stand. Now for action ! Caterina, if I cry out, here by 
the window, shall I be heard ?” 

“Alas! no; for we are cut off and isolated here,” 
and she added tearfully, “what shall we do?” 

“Does any one pass near about this time — is there no 
one within call?” 

“There is no one,” she said — and then she consid- 
ered — “And yet, stay — if you are quick,” she rapidly 
added, there is a chance. Up in the tower above there 
is confined an old prisoner. His daughter, who lives 
in Fenestrelle village for that purpose, has permission 
to visit her father every morning. She remains here 
all day until the fortress is closed for the night. Cry 
out quickly — I pray she has not gone . 9 1 

As she spoke, the tones of the first bugle for closing 
the gate rang out on the quiet night, and the moon- 
beams crept around the old tower and illumined the 
cell window and the faces within. 

“Oh! heavens;” she faintingly cried, “it is the first 
call for closing the gates,” — and she clung to Charney 
in an agony of distress. 


120 


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“What-ho! above — Monsieur de Marsay; come to 
your window, ’ ’ called Charney. 

There was no reply. Caterina was very pale and she 
seemed about to faint. 

‘ ‘ Above there — Hola ! ’ ’ 

Caterina ’s whole weight was now supported by Char- 
ney, and he felt keenly for the poor girl. 

“ Who calls,” cried a voice that came from above, in 
the direction of the tower. 

“It is I, Count Charney, from my cell in the court- 
yard below you. Has your daughter gone? I 

have urgent need for a messenger to the governor.” 

“My daughter left but a few moments ago,” came 
the response, “if you call out again, she may perchance 
hear you as she nears the causeway.” 

At this moment a step was heard along the cause- 
way, a figure was seen approaching, and a voice was 
heard to say, “Am I mistaken, or did I hear some one 
loudly calling my father’s name?” 

Charney called up to the tower, “She is here, Mon- 
sieur de Marsay — she has heard me.” 

De Marsay called down from the tower, “Come 
nearer, without fear, my daughter, it is our neighbor, 
Count Charney, who wants you to take an urgent mes- 
sage to the governor.” 

The daughter of the tower prisoner, de Marsay, drew 
near. As she stepped from the shadows into the full 
light of the moon Charney thought he had never seen a 
sweeter or a fairer face. She was very young — not 
more than nineteen or twenty, at the most. She had 
the fair beauty of northern France, and she wore her 
plain but neat and tasteful costume with perfect grace. 
He saw at a glance that the newcomer belonged to a 
superior station, for a refined and perfect up-bringing 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


121 


was shown in her every movement. He prepared to 
salute her with deference and respect. He had never 
seen any one like Mademoiselle de Marsay before. In 
some strange manner, her face and form, her eager, 
smiling expression and her characteristic pose — full of 
natural grace and sweetness — as she leaned forward 
looking towards the cell; all were fixed in his memory 
in the one rapid glance he gave as she advanced. 

“I fear I cannot linger,” said Delphine de Marsay, 
“the first warning bugle has sounded and I have just 
time to reach the gates before they are closed.” 

Even before she finished, the notes of the second 
bugle were heard. 

“There,” she said, “the last call — the gates are closed 
and I cannot leave the fortress until morning. What 
shall I do?” 

“Our neighbor is in distress,” called down de Mar- 
say from the tower — “he needs your aid. It is our 
duty to help him. Do this kind office for him and you 
can stay with Ludovic ’s wife until morning. ’ 9 

Delphine stepped in front of the cell window and 
looked in. To her astonishment she saw Count Char- 
ney was not alone — he was supporting a fainting girl 
in his arms. “What,” she cried out in surprise, “the 
wife of our jailer in Count Charney’s cell!” 

Caterina hid her face against Charney’s breast. 

“You are Mademoiselle de Marsay, I know,” the 
Count remarked, and he bowed as politely as he could 
under the circumstances. 

“Yes, sir!” said Delphine coldly, “It is easy to see 
you are from Paris. Have you no sense of shame?” 

“Mademoiselle, I know your heart is good,” he 
replied. “You will not judge hastily. It is quite acci- 
dental that the jailer’s wife is here.” 


122 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


“It is quite accidental also, I presume, that she is 
in your arms now,” retorted Delphine. 

Caterina gathered all her strength and stood apart 
from the Count. She took out her handkerchief to 
dry her tears, for she felt keenly the position in which 
she was placed. 

“I like the word ‘accidental’ — ” continued Delphine, 
sarcastically, — “it leaves so much to the imagination.” 

“Don’t you see, Mademoiselle, how your unjust sus- 
picion is hurting this poor, young girl ’ ’ — and he pointed 
to Caterina who was leaning against the wall of the 
cell, crying bitterly. 

“You do well to protect your paramour, Sir Count; 
it seems to me you carry this off unblushingly, and 
with a high hand.” She spoke with disdain and Char- 
ney felt hurt. 

“Come, we waste time,” he said. “I will tell you 
the exact truth.” 

Caterina now spoke, although her tears were still 
falling, “You may rely on every word the Count speaks 
Mademoiselle — surely you do not think he would do 
anything ignoble.” 

“Each supports the other admirably,” remarked Del- 
phine, with a wave of her hand, “how very touching.” 

“I saw this young wife of our jailer for the first 
time this afternoon,” said Charney; and there was an 
accent of sincerity in his voice that Delphine could not 
mistake. 

“Is this true?” exclaimed the surprised Delphine, 
and her manner softened perceptibly. 

“How can you doubt the Count’s words, Mademoi- 
selle?” 

Charney here spoke earnestly. “Mademoiselle,” he 
said, “let me explain how the jailer’s wife came to be 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


123 


locked in here with me. Seeking occupation in the dull 
and lonely life she leads, she strayed into this court- 
yard while I was taking my daily outing. In the midst 
of a harmless conversation we were having, her hus- 
band returned. Fearing to meet him in the courtyard, 
where she had been forbidden to go, she took refuge in 
this cell — the door standing open, while I was seated 
on the bench yonder. The jailer was making his last 
round for the night, and I was locked in with her before 
she could get away unseen.” 

“And is that all?” said Delphine, — “it would be 
laughable were it not for the serious consequences that 
may follow.” 

“And do you doubt, now, Mademoiselle?” eagerly 
asked Caterina. 

“I doubt no longer, for I am convinced the Count 
speaks truthfully;” and the thought came to her as 
she looked at the young girl, that after all she was only 
a child. And yet, child or woman, her position was a 
dangerous one. 

Delphine ’s hand had rested on the window sill as 
she spoke. Charney could not resist the impulse to 
seize it. He took her hand in his. 

“And you, Mademoiselle,” he said earnestly, “you 
who are so good and beautiful — you believe me? I 
have been foolish and selfish in the past years, but I 
have never done anything that one so pure-minded as 
you would not approve. I shall be unhappy without 
your good opinion.” 

Caterina turned her head away. She was married — 
it was true — but she could not bear the idea of the 
Count holding another woman ’s hand. 

Delphine had been absorbed while Charney spoke. 
She now withdrew her hand gently and spoke with 


124 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


resolution. “I throw away all suspicion, Count; and 
now, how am I to help you and poor Caterina out of 
this dilemma ?” 

“By carrying to the governor the message that Count 
Charney wishes to make an immediate confession of 
great importance,” he replied. 

“A confession, Count, implies guilt or wrongdoing. 
I cannot believe you would have one story for me and 
another for the governor.” 

“Hasten, Mademoiselle,” cried Charney. “Nothing 
will bring out the governor at night but the magic 
word ‘confession.’ You can doubtless return with him 
and hear what I have to say. It is only a ruse to allow 
Caterina to escape unseen.” 

“Escape unseen,” exclaimed Delphine, “when the 
governor, if he comes, will be accompanied by Ludovic 
and the night-guard ! ’ ’ 

“Do not make Caterina nervous, Mademoiselle. Leave 
all to me, and if you will assist as my plan unfolds — 
we shall see.” 

“Very well, Count Charney — I go. You will need to 
be very ingenious. I shall he on the lookout to see if 
I can aid you.” Again Delphine had allowed her hand 
to rest on the window sill, and Charney, with a feeling 
of adoration, suddenly seized the shapely hand and 
imprinted a kiss of gratitude on it. 

“You are an angel of goodness!” he cried. 

Delphine hastily withdrew her hand and set out at 
once to find the governor, while Caterina turned to one 
side — an inexplicable feeling of misery at her heart. 

From the tower above de Marsay again spoke. “I 
have heard all, Count Charney. Your plan must be 
good as you are so confident of it. I hope it may suc- 
ceed. No one could be quicker in perception than my 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


125 


daughter, and, if I am not mistaken, she will render 
you valuable aid. The coming darkness favors you, 
for the moon will soon go down. I leave you to your- 
selves — to perfect your plan. Adieu!” 

“Adieu, Monsieur de Marsay, and a thousand thanks 
for your timely aid. ’ ’ He turned and addressed Cater- 
ina, “The moon is going down — how fortunate, it will 
soon be dark.” 

Caterina clung nervously to Charney as she 
exclaimed, “Oh! I am afraid!” 

“Cheer up, little Caterina. Be brave and alert. 
When they come, keep behind the door and remember 
the words.” 

“If I escape this terrible disgrace, I shall never cease 
to think of you with gratitude.” 

“And we must not forget Mademoiselle de Marsay,” 
he observed. 

“I was not thinking of her particularly,” the young 
girl replied, somewhat bitterly. 

“Is she not good and beautiful, little Caterina,” he 
remarked, not noticing the intonation of her voice, — ■ 
“and such eyes; they are tender in expression beyond 
the power of words to describe.” 

“I think you have a strong imagination, Count Char- 
ney.” 

“Come, little Caterina,” the Count replied in reprov- 
ing tones — “no jealousy. You are too good for that, 
and besides — you are married.” 

“You never seem to forget that,” she replied, half- 
angrily. “Oh, Count Charney,” she suddenly 
exclaimed with a little shiver of fright as the moon 
went down and left all dark, “I am terribly afraid.” 
She clung to him in her fright. “Feel how cold my 
hands are.” 


126 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


“Come closer, ” he consoled her, “yon need fear 
nothing. No one shall harm yon.” 

“And my cheeks are burning,” she added, as she 
supported herself with an arm around his neck. 

“So they are, little Caterina,” he said, as he felt 
them and then ran his hand over her wavy hair to 
comfort her. 

Somehow she felt more content now than she had 
ever been before, and it came as a rude shock when 
the sound of approaching footsteps was plainly heard. 

Count Charney at once stood erect and alert. He 
gave Caterina ’s hand a reassuring pressure as he 
quickly said in low tones, “Come, be brave! I hear 
them coming;” and he thought, “Now, for the con- 
test of wits.” 

A flickering light now becomes visible, and Caterina 
got behind the cell door. The first to enter the court- 
yard was Ludovic, carrying a torch in his right hand — 
the keys in his left. Governor St. Remy followed, talk- 
ing attentively to Delphine. He had seen her fre- 
quently, at a distance, as she came and went to and 
from her father’s cell. He found her a beautiful girl, 
and he blamed himself for not making her acquaintance 
before. He had already made up his mind that his 
sister should invite her to take tea with them, and he 
would teach her his favorite game of Bezique. He 
was all attention. Two guards followed with drawn 
swords. The governor halted just inside the courtyard, 
and while Ludovic stood on his right and Delphine at 
his left, the guards drew up at attention behind him. 

“I cannot understand,” St. Remy remarked fret- 
fully, forgetting this had given him an introduction to 
the beautiful Delphine, “I cannot understand why 
prisoners will not choose a decent hour for their con- 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


127 


fessions — a reasonable time after breakfast, or after 
the midday meal, allowing time for proper digestion, 
instead of dragging us out fresh from the table into 
the chill, night air.” 

“The conscience works best at night,” suggested 
Delphine — “when gloomy darkness is setting in.” 

“I hope the confession tonight will repay you for 
turning out, sir,” remarked Ludovic. 

“Well, these are stirring times,” observed St. Remy. 

Ordinarily the prisoners might go to the deuce with 
their confessions, so far as I am concerned, but our 
great Consul is active and omnipotent, and will not for- 
give the slightest neglect of duty. So here we are to 
receive the confession.” 

“I hope it will be worth more than the last two,” 
spoke up Ludovic. 

“What were they, Ludovic? Really, I have forgot- 
ten. ’ ’ 

“The first was ‘number nineteen,’ sir. He insisted he 
was Julius Caesar, that he had murdered Brutus and 
could not sleep for remorse.” 

The governor smiled. “I remember,” he said, “and 
the other was the old man in ‘thirty-two,’ who accused 
you of stealing his head. ’ ’ St. Remy laughed over the 
reminiscence. 

“No, sir, not that one — it was his neighbor, ‘thirty- 
three.’ He imagined he was a whale, and complained 
that I did not give him enough water to swim in. ’ ’ 

The governor laughed heartily. Then he said, “I do 
not think this will be a similar experience, although 
our confessions have been failures of late. Count 
Charney is an intelligent man and in possession of all 
his faculties. It must be of great importance.” 

“I think it will turn out all wrong — ” commented 


128 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


Ludovie — “for he has acted strangely today. In fact, 
I think he is losing his mind. ’ ’ 

“Nonsense, Ludovie — open up and we shall see.” 

Ludovie handed the torch to one of the guards, and 
going over to the cell door, he tried to find the keyhole. 
“Show a light here,” he called. “I cannot see.” 

The soldier holding the torch stepped out to throw 
a light on the cell door, but Delphine quickly took it 
from his unresisting hand and called out : — 

“For shame, Ludovie — a young man like you, not 
able to find a keyhole after opening these cells for 
years, as you have.” 

“That is so — I need no light,” commented the 
abashed Ludovie. 

Delphine passed in front of the governor and con- 
trived to hold the torch in such a way that the group 
of men intercepted its beams and cast a shadow over 
the front of the cell. 

Ludovie succeeded in opening the door, and as he 
threw it partly open he turned and addressed the gov- 
ernor, “Will you go in, sir, out of the chill night air?” 

St. Remy was about to step forward when he turned 
in response to Delphine ’s voice. 

“What, Governor St. Remy — a man in his prime, a 
gallant soldier like you, one of Napoleon’s generals, 
afraid of the night air,” and she threw her cloak open 
to the breeze, as she spoke. 

“Of course not;” replied the gratified governor — 
“Bring the prisoner here.” 

But Charney saved any one that trouble, for he 
stepped out and took his place near the group, now 
standing well away from the cell where Delphine had 
deftly manoeuvered them; for she had drawn the gov- 
ernor away, step-by-step, without his being aware of 
it, and, of course, the others followed. 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


129 


“Good evening, General St. Remy,” said Charney: 
bowing politely — “Count Charney; at your service / 9 

“Good evening, Count,” replied the Governor, and 
then he drew Ludovic a little to one side as he said to 
him in low tones; “He is well and rational, without a 
doubt. I shall require a special messenger, tonight, to 
carry his confession to the Consul.” He stepped up to 
Charney, “and now, Count Charney, for your confes- 
sion.” 

Delphine exchanged a glance of intelligence with 
Charney, and immediately passed the torch she had 
been holding into the hand of Ludovic. 

Charney took a paper from his pocket, “It is here” 
he said, holding it up, “draw near and you shall see.” 

The governor eagerly came alongside, devouring the 
unopened paper with greedy eyes. He stood on 
Charney ’s right. Ludovic came and stood on the other 
side of the Count so as to shed a light for the governor 
to read the confession. Charney took care to keep his 
back towards the cell, and the guards were drawn up 
behind St. Remy and were looking over his shoulders 
to see what was going on. Delphine hovered about at 
the flank ready with outstretched cloak to cast a 
shadow along the causeway. Charney saw the time 
had come, and in loud, clear tones that almost caused 
Ludovic to drop the torch, he cried out, 

“Hold the light lower , Ludovic.” Then leaning for- 
ward he commenced to open the paper, deliberately 
taking as much time as he could in doing so. Ludovic 
got down on one knee to bring the light lower. The 
governor bent over to read the confession, and the 
guards behind bent forward as they gazed intently at 
the paper. 

Delphine saw poor little Caterina emerge from the 


130 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


cell on tiptoe. Without a moment’s hesitation the 
young wife of the jailer picked her way along, carefully 
and noiselessly. Delphine held her breath as she ex- 
tended her cloak wide to screen the causeway from the 
light of the torch. At last, glancing over her shoulder, 
she gave a sigh of relief, for Caterina was escaping. 
She was nearly out of sight — she would soon be safe! 

While this was going on, Governor St. Remy took the 
paper in his own hand and carefully scrutinized it. It 
was blank. He rubbed his eyes for a moment. 4 ‘I see 
nothing,” he said. 

“Not a thing,” said Ludovic, looking at it. 

“What does this mean, Count Charney?” said the 
governor sternly; not knowing what to think. 

Charney looked to Delphine for a moment and read 
some anxiety in her face. He concluded that Caterina 
was not quite out of danger yet. He therefore turned 
to the governor and replied, — On this paper the con- 
fession was to have been written, but I had neither pen 
nor ink and hence I could not write it. ’ ’ 

The governor appeared confounded. He turned to 
Ludovic, who addressed him : 

“I knew how this would end — Count Charney has 
been acting strangely all day.” 

“But,” said the governor, as he turned to Charney, 
“You can make a verbal confession — I can send for the 
notary to take it down.” 

Charney here received a quick glance from Delphine 
telling him that at last all was well — his stratagem and 
her splendid aid had saved Caterina. She had escaped 
— She was gone! He turned to the governor, and, as 
he did so, he pressed a hand to his forehead in a dazed 
manner. 

“Alas,” he said — “It is useless. I have forgotten 
what I was going to say.” 


CHAPTER IX. 


S EVERAL weeks had elapsed and Charney was 
sitting in his cell, propped up in his arm-chair 
by some plain but comfortable cushions. He 
was still trying to recollect the events of the 
past, when he saw and recognized Ludovic standing at 
the open door of his cell. 

“Ah! Good morning, Count Charney — at last you are 
able to sit up, ’ ’ he said gladly. 

Charney passed his hand over his forehead, and 
asked, “how long have I been ill, good Ludovic?” 

Ludovic picked up the stool and came and sat near — 
“For many weeks,” he replied. 

“I have but a confused recollection;” — again Char- 
ney tried to recall the events of the past. 

“Well, the governor was enraged at turning out by 
night to hear that confession of yours, and when he got 
none, he ordered you to undergo solitary confinement 
in one of the underground dungeons.” 

“And then — ” said Charney. 

“Then you got ill, just as I told the governor you 
would, and you were brought back here to recover.” 

“But Ludovic — am I right, or do I imagine it, — I 
have had nursing and the tender care of women during 
my illness?” 

“You are quite right, Count Charney, Mademoiselle 
de Marsay has nursed you by day, and my wife has 
taken her place at night. Mademoiselle appealed to 
the governor and he had not the heart to deny her.” 

“She is an angel! And your good little wife, my 
Ludovic, nursed me in this lonely cell all through the 
long night ?” 


131 


132 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


“Yes, she became brave all at once — she who for- 
merly was so timid — I never saw anything like it. ’ ’ 

Charney looked out through his cell door, and to his 
astonishment he beheld a beautiful plant growing in 
the center of the courtyard. It was nearly at full ma- 
turity and it bore one flower in the bud, nearly ready 
to open. He exclaimed with pleasure, “and my plant 
has grown up — I see it is about to bloom. How beauti- 
ful it is!” 

“That reminds me,” said Ludovic, as he took a mi- 
croscope from his pocket and handed it to Charney, 
“the tower-prisoner, Mademoiselle’s father, sends you 
this, so that you may have occupation in examining 
your plant as you grow well again. ’ ’ 

Charney took the useful little article in his hand as 
he remarked, “I shall thank him for this kindness when 
I see him.” 

“Well, Count, you have never ceased to rave about 
your plant, all through your illness. You would often 
start up in the night, crying ‘Water! — Water! — It is 
dying.’ ” 

“That which tends to be uppermost in the balanced 
mind, becomes the whole theme in the mind delirious. 
But how much I thank you for watering my plant and 
protecting it from harm.” 

“Well, Count, I did water it for one day, but then I 
found that Mademoiselle and my little wife, Caterina, 
were watering it day and night, and as the plant was 
like to be washed away — I interfered to save it for you, 

” and Ludovic went on to explain that since then 

it had been cared for in turn — Mademoiselle had 
watered it in the morning and Caterina at night. 

Charney felt grateful. “I cannot understand,” he 
remarked, “why the governor has relaxed so many 
prison rules on my behalf.” 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


133 


“Oh! as to that, Count Charney — don’t think the 
governor cares a rap for you or any prisoner; but the 
beautiful Mademoiselle pleaded for you, and all in the 
fortress that can put two and two together say that 
the governor follows up Mademoiselle every chance he 
gets — that in fact, he is thinking of becoming a family 
man. ’ ’ 

Charney was angry. “What” cried he, “do you 
mean to say that old man would dare to cast eyes on 
that young and beautiful girl?” 

4 4 Don ’t get excited, Count; and take a friendly word 
of advice — keep ill as long as you can, and you will 
have pleasant company. If I am not mistaken the gov- 
ernor will be glad to have you well again so that Ma- 
demoiselle need come here no more. Once you are 
better, all the prison rules will go in force again — 
take time to recover.” 

Charney understood this thoughtful advice. 4 4 Thank 
you Ludovic,” he said, “I owe you much. Come and 
shake hands with me and tell me you are my friend.” 

4 4 No ! I cannot — for jailer and prisoner should never 
be friends. It might interfere with my duty. I have 
not the heart to be unkind to prisoners of your merit, 
Count Charney ; and remember, if you should ever take 
it into your head to try and escape, I should have to call 
on the sentry to fire, and I could not do that if we were 
friends. I serve a good master;” and here he respect- 
fully rose, saluting as he did so, 4 4 he pays me regularly 
— he will promote me for attention to duty. Thank 
you, Count Charney, I serve no other master than the 
great Napoleon,” and again he saluted. 

Charney saw that Ludovic had not understood him, 
“I wanted to show my appreciation of your kindness,” 
he explained — “I had no other thought.” 


134 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


Both looked to the door, for Caterina entered bearing 
a basket of fruit which she put down on the table. She 
went over to Charney, delighted to see him showing 
unmistakable signs of complete recovery. “How glad I 
am you are able to sit up,” she said, as she adjusted 
him more comfortably in his chair. 

Charney ’s eye sparkled as he saw a dainty figure in 
the doorway, for Delphine came in, and she, too, had a 
little basket of fruit. She placed it near Caterina ’s 
basket and came to Charney ’s side. “At last, Count, 
you are mastering your stubborn illness, ’ ’ and here she, 
too, assisted to make the invalid more comfortable. 
She was delighted at the great improvement in his ap- 
pearance, while he was almost dazzled with her beauty 
and the sunshine of her presence. 

“How can I repay my careful nurses,” he said feel- 
ingly, as he looked at both with heartfelt gratitude. 

“Do not think of that;” and Delphine bent over him 
and felt his forehead. He pressed her hand close to 
his head for a moment. There was a water-pitcher and 
cup standing on a clothes-press in the corner. She 
went to bring him some water, and Ludovic poured it 
out for her. 

Caterina was so grateful to Charney, since the night 
they were locked in his cell together, that she now al- 
most adored him. She thought of nothing else, and 
her one regret was that she had not been able to nurse 
him alone, day and night, without sharing her agreeable 
labor with another. She placed her hand on his fore- 
head, as Delphine had done, but she noticed with regret 
that he was unconscious of it, for his eyes were fixed 
on Delphine ’s movements. 

Delphine offered the water and Charney gladly took 
it, and drank with gusto — his fair nurse looking on 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


135 


approvingly. Some water was left in the cup, and 
Ludovic, who received it from Delphine, threw what 
was left into the courtyard. 

“You did not drink all,” Delphine observed, “you 
were not thirsty. ’ ’ 

Caterina, not wishing to be outdone, had also gone 
for water and in turn she offered it to Charney. She 
was preoccupied and had not heard Delphine ’s re- 
mark — “Drink,” she said. 

Charney understood, and although he was not thirsty, 
he drank a little. 

Ludovic thought it would please the Count if he 
could look at his plant more closely, so addressing 
Charney, he said, “I think you are strong enough to 
take a little walk, with our aid, to examine your 
plant. ’ ’ 

Charney was delighted with the proposal; and Del- 
phine on one side and Ludovic on the other, he rose to 
go. But Caterina was not going to be left out, so going 
up to Ludovic she displaced him. 

“You are too big and strong for this work,” she 
said, and she and Delphine supported the Count as they 
started to pass out into the courtyard. But here a 
surprise was in store for all, for St. Remy appeared in 
the doorway, and entered. 

“Ah ! Good morning, Count Charney,” came the gov- 
ernor’s greeting — “on your feet at last, you will be 
well again in a few days.” 

“Excuse me, sir,” interposed Ludovic after Charney 
and his nurses had passed out of the cell, “he will need 
careful nursing for weeks to come, or there will be a 
relapse.” 

“Relapse? Fiddlesticks!” said the governor — 
“When a prisoner can promenade with a woman on 


136 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


each arm — he is better. We shall see what the doctor 
has to say.” Here St. Remy noticed the fruit-baskets 
— ‘ 4 What nonsense is this?” he angrily exclaimed, 
4 ‘who brought these here?” 

“My wife?” said Ludovic. 

“Your wife!” almost roared the governor. 

“And Mademoiselle de Marsay,” continued the jailer. 

“ Oh ! ” said the governor, changing his tone at once, 
4 4 She brought fruit, did she ? She takes a great interest 
in the prisoner, then ? ’ ’ 

“She brought the fruit,” replied Ludovic — “they 
both brought it because they are women, and they 
sympathize with Count Charney in his illness. ’ ’ 

The governor seemed to doubt for a moment, and 
then he remarked, “Of course, that is it, but a little of 
that nonsense goes far with me. It is time to stop these 
absurd privileges. The prisoner’s letter of commit- 
ment ordered some relaxation of our discipline, but it 
did not direct me to run a hotel and treat my prisoners 
like princes. Remove these baskets!” he ordered. 

Just then Charney re-entered the cell with Delphine 
and Caterina. They all heard the order and the angry 
voice with which it was given. Ludovic placed his 
hands on the baskets but looked around helplessly, as 
if summoning aid; he did not want to carry out the 
order, but how dare he refuse? 

St. Remy had not noticed Charney ’s return ; nor did 
he see the nurses, as all quietly paused on the thresh- 
hold. He went on, “The doctor must report complete 
recovery, so that women coming here and all that sort 
of nonsense can be stopped.” 

Delphine interposed, startling St. Remy as she spoke 
— “The governor said remove the baskets, Ludovic. 
He did not say anything about the contents, did you 
governor ? ’ ’ 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


137 


St. Remy was taken unawares and could find no reply 
at the moment. 

4 ‘Put the fruit in the press, then, Ludovic, and you 
can take the empty baskets away,” said Delphine. 

“Um — Ah — Yes!” .... St. Remy paused and 
waved his hand in acquiescence to Ludovic, — “that is 
what I meant, it seems.” 

The kind-hearted Ludovic gladly carried out Del- 
phine ’s interpretation of the order. 

The governor turned to Charney, “As you appear 
strong enough,” he said, “I am going to give you an- 
other indulgence this morning — you can go and visit 
the tower-prisoner, Mademoiselle’s father.” 

Charney was much surprised, and thanked him. 

Ludovic looked up astonished, and the pleased 
nurses prepared to conduct the Count on his way. 

They started off, but before they had reached the 
door St. Remy addressed Ludovic : — 

“You can take Mademoiselle’s place, Ludovic; I wish 
to speak to her.” 

Ludovic took the place Delphine reluctantly yielded 
up to him. 

She turned to the governor, “You wish to speak to 
me, sir ? ” she said with agitation. 

“Yes, Mademoiselle, to you,” and he placed a chair 
for her. He remained standing as he continued, “You 
must have noticed I take pleasure in your company. I 
am a soldier and I come to the point at once without 
the usual preliminary skirmishing. A grand position is 
open for you, Mademoiselle — that of wife to the gover- 
nor of Fenestrelle, ” and here he drew himself up 
proudly. 

Delphine was visibly distressed. The repulsion she 
had felt for this man from the first, warned her now 
that he was capable of causing her much trouble. 


138 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


St. Remy had not noticed her agitation and he went 
on — “Wherever you walk the world will be at your 
feet. The youths of the village will take off their hats 
to you, and the maidens will whisper, with bated 
breath, there goes the governor’s lady. At the annual 
garrison ball you will lead off the dance with the Gov- 
ernor of Piedmont — you will pour tea at the monthly 
reception, preside over the sewing circle and settle all 
disputes between the officers’ wives.” 

“Oh; General St. Remy,” cried Delphine, “believe 
me, I wish you well and I am grateful for your esteem 
— but I cannot listen to this. ’ ’ 

“You cannot listen, Mademoiselle!” said the aston- 
ished St. Remy. “What; does the matter require con- 
sideration? It is true I am a few years older than you, 
but that is nothing, or rather, it is something of im- 
portance to you — an insurance against the frivolity of 
a youthful and inexperienced husband. Then, 
Mademoiselle, you are both poor and friendless, and 
your father is a lifelong prisoner.” 

“Lifelong!” she cried in despair. “Oh! do not say 
that. ’ ’ 

“It is true,” he went on. “Prisoners who come here 
are forgotten unless they have influence. Fenestrelle 
becomes their tomb.” 

“My poor father,” said Delphine to herself as she 
thought of her hopeless situation. 

“Think well before you cast my offer aside. Re- 
member that if you become my wife, every powerful 
influence I can command will be exerted to free your 
father, and,” he proudly added, “I have such influence, 
Mademoiselle, that my success is a foregone con- 
clusion. ’ ’ 

Delphine knew that a crisis in her life was approach- 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


139 


iug, for she detected an undertone of persecution in 
this man’s voice, and she knew too well that her father 
was in his power. She determined to make an appeal 
to his better feelings. “Oh! Governor St. Remy,” she 
said, while she looked at him appealingly, “you are 
of noble family ; be generous and good — aid me to free 
my father, and I will think of you and bless you every 
day of my life, and you will get a reward in the next 
world,” she added solemnly. 

“That is too remote, Mademoiselle,” the governor 
coolly replied. “Our family has received nothing but 
hard knocks for lifelong devotion. During all the 
excitement of the terrible revolution I kept cool, I did 
not lose my head, but as a result I am now very prac- 
tical and before I undertake anything I make sure of 
my pay. There is no need for haste. I do not wish 
to hurry you. Take a week to think it over. Do not 
forget one thing, however ; in the same measure that I 
have influence to save your father, so have I the power 
to make his lot very hard. ’ ’ 

“You surely would not threaten a poor and defense- 
less girl — ” she interrupted — “and could you have the 
heart to make my father’s lot more unbearable than 
it is?” 

‘ ‘ My motto is business — not sentiment, Mademoiselle, 
and if you refuse my proposal I shall withdraw all 
privileges; then, instead of seeing your father daily, 
you will see him only once a month. ’ ’ 

“Would you be so cruel?” she retorted, almost 
fiercely, “have you no heart?” 

“That is just it, Mademoiselle, I have been too ten- 
der-hearted all my life.” 

“Are you sure you have a heart, General St. Remy? 
Alas! What shall I do?” 


140 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


4 4 Think it over well, 7 7 said St. Remy, and waving his 
hand lightly, he left without another word. 

Delphine sank into a chair. Hers was a dreadful 
position. Instead of comforting her aged father she 
would he the means of adding to his suffering. There 
was no one to help her — she had no friend. 

She became lost in thought as she tried to think of 
some means by which her father and she might be 
extricated from the terrible situation in which they 
should soon find themselves. “What can I do?’ 7 she 
said aloud; despair in her voice. 

Caterina was just entering and she heard. She ran 
up to Delphine — 4 4 Why; what is the matter, 77 she cried 
in alarm as she looked in the face before her. 

Delphine hid her face in her hands and replied in a 
sad voice, 44 1 am in trouble. 77 

Caterina tried to comfort her. 4 4 Your father is 
well — I have just left him. 7 7 

4 4 It is not that, 77 said Delphine. 

4 4 Then what can it be? 77 

Delphine was silent for a few moments while Cater- 
ina stood waiting. At last she looked up, 4 4 Come, 
Caterina; you and I have shared in bringing Count 
Charney back to health. I feel I can trust you. Will 
you promise solemnly never to breathe a word of what 
I am going to tell you ? I have just made an important 
resolution. 7 7 

4 4 Oh! yes; I promise willingly, for I do love a 
secret 77 — and the young girl brought the stool and sat 
near her companion. 

“Well, then, I have a plan 77 — here she looked cau- 
tiously around — 4 4 it is to release my father and Count 
Charney from this prison. 77 

4 4 What ! 7 7 cried Caterina, and leave me here all alone 
with no one to talk to but my husband? 77 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


141 


“And would you selfishly keep the Count in prison to 
talk to him? You know very well that in a few days 
the prison rules will be in force again, and no one but 
Ludovic will be allowed to see the Count.” 

“I had forgotten.” Caterina became sad 

“Well,” she said at last, “I give up my selfish 
thoughts, and I will do all I can to aid you. ’ ’ 

Delphine went and looked out of the cell door to 
see that they should not be overheard. She came back 
and spoke in low and earnest tones. “I cannot explain 
everything now for Ludovic will soon be coming — but 
this is my plan: The Emperor Napoleon is to pass 
through this province, in a few days from now, on his 
way to his coronation at Milan. I am going to see 
him — to petition for the release of my father and Count 
Charney.” She rose with resolution and concluded, “I 
shall throw myself at the emperor’s feet and implore 
him for clemency.” 

“What a brave girl you are,” said the admiring 
Caterina; “to think of doing all this unaided and 
alone.” 

“But I am not going alone, Caterina.” 

Caterina thought for a moment. “Of course, not; 
how could you? You will go in a carriage and some 
one will drive you . 9 1 

“There will be no carriage, Caterina,” she responded 
sadly, “for I have no money; and I shall not be alone, 
for I am going to take you with me for company.” 

Caterina rose in consternation — “Oh, Mademoiselle! 
I cannot go. I should sink through the ground with 
fright . 9 ’ 

But Delphine assured her there would be no danger. 
“Nonsense;” she said, “I shall protect you — and 
besides, who would be so wicked as to molest two 


142 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


defenseless girls ? When is the annual fair, Caterina ? ’ ’ 
“The day after tomorrow .’ 7 

“So I heard — now listen carefully. You must help 
me. You must be clever and brave . . . Caterina!” 

She turned to her companion with decision. “We 
leave for Alessandria tomorrow night.” 


CHAPTER X 


H AVE you any money, Caterina?” 

“I have never had any money since I 
married, Mademoiselle. ’ ’ 

1 1 Poor little wife ! ’ ’ said Delphine. c * But 
you can get money from Ludovic — we shall need it for 
our journey. And you must get a holiday to go and 
stay with your aunt, for a few days after the fair, so 
that our absence will not be noticed.” 

“ Money! A holiday!” replied the frightened 
Caterina. “You do not know Ludovic, or you would 
not ask this. It is impossible! As for an aunt — you 
are mistaken, Mademoiselle; I have no relations.” 

“I shall find you an aunt when I go to Fenestrelle 
tonight,” and Delphine laughed at her companion’s 
puzzled expression — “and you must get money and a 
holiday. ’ ’ 

“Are you in earnest about all this, Mademoiselle?” 
“In earnest,” replied Delphine. “I am determined 
upon going, and if you will not go — I go alone.” 

“Very well, it is settled, I go with you. I always go 
to the annual fair, and I shall tell Ludovic I stay the 
day after with my cousin in Fenestrelle.” 

“No; with your aunt;” corrected Delphine. 

‘ 1 Oh, yes ; with my aunt ; but when I ask Ludovic for 
money he will refuse.” 

“He must not refuse,” replied Delphine energetically, 
“You must wheedle him.” 

“Wheedle him, Mademoiselle; what is that?” 

“I can show you presently. Even if you do not get 
money, never mind. We can walk. It is only eighty 
miles. I have a little money saved but we must not use 


143 


144 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


that, for it will be needed to win our way through the 
crowds to reach the emperor. ” 

The thought of all this made Caterina turn pale, and 
she trembled with nervous dread. 

This was not noticed by Delphine, for she went on. 
‘‘Perhaps some kind wagoner will give us a lift on the 
way. But you really must get money, Caterina, and I 
am going to show you how to wheedle your husband. I 
have no experience myself, as you know, but I have 
heard how it can be done ; and you should succeed, ’ ’ she 
added, putting her arm around Caterina ’s waist, “for 
you are young and pretty, and what husband can with- 
stand such a happy combination ? * ’ 

“Am I nearly as pretty as you, Mademoiselle ? ’ ’ 
asked the ingenuous young wife. 

“Oh!” replied the laughing Delphine, “you must 
ask some one else — Count Charney, for instance,” she 
suggested unthinkingly, in a spirit of playful mischief; 
but she was sorry, for Caterina flushed and stamped her 
foot. 

“Never!” she said; with the recollection of his glow- 
ing praise of Delphine, the night they were locked in the 
cell together, fresh in her memory. 

“Ask Ludovic, then; he will tell you;” suggested 
Delphine to end the matter to the young wife’s satis- 
faction. 

“No, I will not,” she replied, as her brow clouded 
with the recollection; “I know what he would say, for 
we were talking about you only a few days ago, and he 
said your face reminded him of the angels he used to 
look at in the picture-books when he was a boy.” 

“Oh!” cried the embarrassed Delphine, and then in 
desperation she made matters worse, “ask Governor St. 
Remy,” she suggested. 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


145 


“Enough, Mademoiselle, ’ ’ Caterina cried, — “It was 
wrong of me to ask such a foolish question.” 

Delphine drew the young girl into her arms, patted 
her cheeks and gave her an affectionate hugging to 
soothe her feelings. “You are pretty,” she said, “and 
if I were a man it would be in such dark eyes as yours 
that I should like to gaze.” 

“Count Charney does not think as you do,” com- 
mented Caterina unthinkingly. 

“Whatever do you mean?” asked Delphine in sur- 
prise, but immediately perceiving this was a subject that 
seemed to promote strife, she sought to divert the young 
girl’s mind in other directions, and in this she soon suc- 
ceeded. “I was going to tell you how to wheedle your 
husband,” she went on. “Be very nice to him. Coax 
him. Throw your whole mind, and especially your eyes, 
into the task. Use woman’s wit and you will succeed. 
Above all, flatter him a little, or better still ; flatter him 
very much. Make him feel what a fine, big, and noble 
fellow he is, and how you cling to him like the vine to 
the oak! Men like that sort of thing — do you under- 
stand ? ’ ’ 

Caterina was a little doubtful, but she replied, “I 
think I do, but how shall I begin ? What do I do first ? ” 

“Come,” said Delphine, “this is very important. I 
must give you a lesson, but first describe to me how 
Ludovic comes in for supper after his day’s work is 
done.” 

“Well, when he first enters he tosses his cap to one 
side and then he throws himself into his chair.” 

“And then?” 

“Then he talks like this — ‘another day of slavery — 
listening to the crazy prisoners and dancing attendance 
on that old ass of a governor. I suppose he is now 


146 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


dyeing his hair to make himself look younger — the con- 
ceited old fop — and that old fossil of a sister of his is 
doubtless chopping up her chicken-feed, or curling her 
false hair and polishing up her glass eye!’ ” 

Delphine laughed heartily over this description. “I 
understand,” she said — “but before we go on with the 
lesson, I want to know what you do when your husband 
has relieved his feelings. Show me exactly,” she con- 
cluded. 

Caterina went and sat at one side on the stool. “I 
sit like this,” she explained, and I say “never mind, 
Ludovic — ” and here she yawned — “come and have 
supper.” She turned as if addressing the real Ludovic 
in his arm chair, “and then,” she concluded, “I walk 
out and he follows. ’ ’ 

“Now, I am ready to show you — so will you please 
be Ludovic. Come in as he does — act his part, but 
express no surprise and make careful note of all I do, 
for I am going to be Caterina.” 

Caterina went out of the cell but immediately re- 
entered, imitating Ludovic ’s heavier step. She stopped 
at the rough wooden table, which had been drawn near 
the door for Charney’s convenience, and picked up the 
long narrow scarf, or towel, she had folded several times 
to cover her fruit basket. She deftly wound it up into a 
turban or coif, and placed it on her head to simulate her 
husband’s cap. Advancing then into the room with firm 
step she assumed the proper air of tired disgust, put 
up her hand to throw off the cap, saying as she did 
so, “another day — ” 

Before she could proceed further, Delphine, who had 
been sitting, ran and threw her arms about the supposed 
Ludovic ’s neck, accompanying the action with two good 
sound kisses. She took the cap from the surprised 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


147 


Caterina ’s hands and brushed her hair back lovingly. 
She then put the cap on the table. Before Caterina 
could proceed with her interrupted sentence, Delphine 
placed an arm around her waist, and saying, “Welcome 
to my brave and good Ludovic,” she led her and seated 
her in the arm chair. Here she stood smoothing 
Caterina’s hair and forehead, fondling her cheeks, etc. 

Caterina now tried to resume — “another day” — she 
went on, but Delphine was sitting on the arm of the 
chair, and putting one arm around Caterina’s neck and 
bending and kissing her forehead, she interrupted with, 
“how well my Ludovic looks tonight. How the poor 
prisoners must envy my manly husband, with his kind 
heart and cheerful ways.” 

Again Caterina made an effort to resume — “another 
day” — but she was again interrupted, for Delphine 
threw both arms around her and kissed her, with the 
words : 

“There is no one the governor appreciates more 
than my faithful Ludovic” — here she patted the imagi- 
nary Ludovic on the head — “one of these days your 
devotion to work will be rewarded. The emperor him- 
self will drive up in a carriage and calling for you he 
will cry ‘where is that good Ludovic,’ and you will be 
promoted to a position suited to your talents.” Here 
Delphine arose. “But come, my poor famished boy — ” 
and she assisted Caterina to arise by placing a support- 
ing arm around her waist — “your favorite supper is 
ready, — chicken pie, hot cakes and beer. Come along!” 
And she quickly led off the much surprised Caterina, 
who found herself gaily dancing through the cell door 
in the loving arms of her sprightly companion. 

They returned to the cell, laughingly, hand in hand. 

“Yes, Mademoiselle, now I understand what you 


148 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


mean, but I don’t see bow it will make Ludovic give me 
the money we need for onr journey.” 

4 ‘Well, it is easier to put a man in a good humor 
than it is to get money from him, but the first step is 
to make him feel happy, and then you can easily man- 
age the rest. If your husband does not then say, ‘My 
Caterina is a little jewel of a woman,’ and if he does 
not bring out a ten-franc piece with the remark, ‘here 
is something to buy ribbons at the fair;’ you must 
wheedle him more.” 

“How would that be possible?” Caterina replied. 

So Delphine tried to make it clear. “You know 
that men are obstinate,” she said. “Very few can be 
driven, but they can all be led. You must sit on his 
lap, nestle close and be sure not to mention the word 
money , for husbands take fright at the mere sound of 
that word. You must throw out a few mild hints. Tell 
him how well so-and-so looked in church last Sunday, 
in a new gown and hat — express your surprise that her 
husband can dress her so well when he makes only half 
of what your husband does. Ask him if he likes you 
best in blue, gray or revolutionary red, and tell him you 
saw such beautiful dress-patterns in the village store 
at a ridiculously low price, and that you are sure that 
one could be made up for next to nothing. ’ ’ 

“But what if he says he likes me in any color, and 
that nothing will ever become me so well as my last 
year’s gown.” 

“In that case your husband flatters you to save 
money, and you must shed a few tears and ask him 
if he still loves you — a tear in the eye is better than 
a thousand words.” 

“I shall try this on Ludovic today,” said the young 
wife, “before I forget all you have told me.” 


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149 


“There is some one coming,’ ’ said Delphine, speak- 
ing quickly. “Do your best and be all ready to leave 
the fortress with me tomorrow night, half an hour 
before the gates close.” 

It was Ludovic they had heard, for he now entered. 
Delphine addressed him: — 

“What a fortunate man you are, Ludovic, in having 
such a good, little wife.” 

“Fortunate, am I, Mademoiselle? I suppose I am; 
but it had never occurred to me. ’ ’ 

It was now time for Delphine to return to her father, 
and she turned to go. To her surprise the governor 
had come back, for he stood in the door. “You are 
leaving, Mademoiselle?” he said. 

“Yes,” she replied — “I am going to my father.” 

“Ah! then we can walk in that direction together.” 

She could not well refuse. St. Remy joined her and 
they left together. 

Ludovic sat down as he thought “now for a few mo- 
ments of rest.” He noticed his wife still standing 
where she was when he came in. “Sit down, little 
Caterina,” he urged. 

Caterina sat. She knew that with the governor gone, 
and Charney on a visit to the tower-prisoner, de Mar- 
say, they were likely to be undisturbed. She knew also 
that her husband was not so terribly sleepy as he would 
be when his day’s work was done, so she determined to 
attack him now, before her courage failed entirely. 
She got up and went rather timidly towards him, but 
stopped half-way and turned back. But then she 
thought of Delphine ’s request, and of all that it might 
mean for the one she was prepared to do anything for, 
and she mustered up courage. 

“Ludovic,” she spoke nervously and with hesitation. 
I 1 want some money.” 


150 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


Ludovic started up with both hands to his heart. 
“Money !” he said, and then he slowly re-seated him- 
self — still holding one hand to his heart. He now 
spoke with suppressed tones — ‘ ‘ bring me some water — 
quick ! ’ ’ 

The alarmed Caterina ran for the water and sup- 
ported him as he drank it. 

“I was nearly off! Be careful, Caterina — don’t give 
me another shock like this; my heart is weak.” 

“My poor Ludovic — I was too abrupt,” and she 
smoothed his forehead. 

“Money,” continued Ludovic— “I never have a sou 
in my pocket.” 

“I know that,” she paused a moment and then cor- 
rected, “or rather I guessed it, for you never offer me 
any — only the poor, solitary franc you give me once a 
year to go to the village fair. What do you do with 
your wages, my Ludovic?” 

“When the monthly pay day comes I have a place to 
put every franc,” he replied. 

“Oh! Ludovic, perhaps you are hoarding up your 
savings in a secret place, and some day you are going 
to give your little wife a surprise.” 

Ludovic moved uneasily in his chair. “Well,” he 
said, “if you find this hoard you may keep it, my 
Caterina.” 

Caterina found she was making no progress in her 
quest for money, and she settled down to wheedle in 
good earnest. She sat on the arm of his chair, as Del- 
phine had done, and commenced. “Never mind — no one 
could be a better manager than my clever husband. 
Some day you will have a better place and then you will 
have money for your little wife. Why, you haven’t once 
mentioned the annual fair, and it comes the day after 
tomorrow. ’ ’ 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


151 


“So it does,” assented he. 

“Are yon going with me, Ludovie?” Here she took 
his hand coaxingly in hers. 

“I cannot get away — I thought yon knew.” 

“Oh! yes!” 

“You will have to go alone, as yon have before.” 

“No! not alone, for I can go with my aunt.” 

“Your aunt!” said Ludovie in surprise, “what 
aunt? I never knew you had an aunt — what is her 
name ? ’ ’ 

“Her name,” said Caterina with hesitation. Then 
suddenly, “Oh! I was called after her, it seems. Her 
name is Caterina.” 

4 ‘ That is nice ! So you are going with her to the 
fair ? ’ ’ 

“Yes, and she wants me to stay with her for a few 
days after the fair . 9 ’ 

“What for?” he asked. 

“Why to see more of me!” 

“ Oh ! well, I can manage, you don ’t have many holi- 
days. 9 9 

“What a kind, good fellow you are, my Ludovie — 99 
said Caterina, making herself comfortable in his lap. 
“I know that all the girls in Fenestrelle envy me for 
having such a fine-looking husband” — here she kissed 
him — “Do you remember Lisabetta?” 

Ludovie considered a moment. “Lisabetta? Oh, 
you mean the miller’s daughter?” 

“Yes! well she is married to Filippo, the wood- 
cutter. ’ ’ 

“Married! He can hardly keep himself — I hope he 
will be able to keep her.” 

“You should have seen her. She has beautiful 
things to wear. I didn ’t like to meet her with my poor, 


152 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


last year’s dress; so I turned back. She would have 
crowed over me, and besides, I did not want her to tell 
her husband she had met the wife of the jailer of 
Fenestrelle fortress in such shabby clothes.” 

“Why he doesn’t make half of what I get in the 
year ! ’ ’ 

“Oh! she was beautifully dressed — ” Caterina went 
on — “I felt ashamed.” She hid her face against Ludo- 
vic’s shoulder and clasped her arms around his neck. 

“Poor little Caterina, you always look so well in 
what you have — ” and here he paused to think — “Per- 
haps I have not noticed these things enough. But 
never mind,” he said, “here is something to get you a 
new dress,” and he put his hand to his inside vest 
pocket as he thought ruefully, “this was intended for 
something else.” He then drew out a little chamois 
bag that was suspended from his neck by a cord. 

Caterina clapped her hands for joy. “For me?” she 
said. 

‘ ‘ See what is in it ! ” 

Caterina emptied the contents in her hand and 
counted. “Eight francs, fifty centimes!” she cried. 

“What do you say for it?” 

Caterina gave him a hearty kiss. “How good you 
are, ’ ’ she exclaimed ; and she passed the cord off his neck 
and put it over her own, retaining the bag in her hand 
as she did so. “This will get me a beautiful, new 
feather,” she said; and she shook the bag gleefully. 

“A feather!” he cried. “I thought it was a dress 
you wanted.” 

Caterina stroked his cheek, “you poor, simple Ludo- 
vic,” she explained — “this wouldn’t buy a dress. But 
never mind — I can turn my old dress inside out and 
dye it, then I can have my last year’s hat cleaned and 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


153 


a wider brim put on it. ’ ’ Here her manner became very- 
impressive — “then with a large, new feather on it — you 
will not know your Caterina.” 

Ludovic was not quite satisfied with this — he wanted 
Caterina to look as well as the wood-cutter’s wife. 
“What would it cost to get a new dress?” he inquired. 

Caterina pinched both of his cheeks as she asked, — 
“And a new hat?” 

“Yes!” he said; “a new hat with shoes and stockings 
and — ” 

Caterina playfully put her hand over his mouth as 
she continued, “Sh! Don’t go any further — you will be 
frightened at the total. Well, let me see — ” she 
reckoned on her fingers — ‘ ‘ about thirty francs ! ’ ’ 

“Thirty francs!” he said, “and you have eight 
francs, fifty centimes of it there.” He indicated the 
purse. 

“You naughty boy” — again she pinched his cheeks 
— “my poor little eight francs, fifty, is not to be 
counted in. Oh!” she cried as she suddenly re- 
membered she had forgotten something — “Then I shall 
need trimmings, and there is the making, the lining, 
the thread, the canvas, the hooks and eyes — ” She 
ran her fingers lightly through his curly hair as she 
talked. 

“Well, say forty francs then.” 

“Fifty, you dear old boy!” and here she smoothed 
his eyebrows. “But, Oh! I have just remembered. 
Don ’t you think one of those lovely, white silk parasols, 
with red dots, would be very becoming? You used to 
say my cheeks were peaches — ” she rubbed a soft little 
cheek against his — “You would not want your little 
Caterina to get horribly sunburnt. ’ ’ 

“Won’t an umbrella do?” he asked ruefully. 


154 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


“You know it won’t, you naughty boy.” 

“Ah, well then” — Ludovic drew a long sigh — “say 
sixty and he done with it. Eight-fifty from sixty — ” 

Caterina interrupted this calculation by shaking her 
bag ostentatiously. “I shall have to buy you some- 
thing nice with this,” and she slipped it through the 
fold of her dress into her bosom. “They have beauti- 
ful spittoons in the village at twenty-five centimes.” 

Ludovic put his hand inside his vest and after a 
search, brought out another chamois bag. “Hold your 
hand, little one.” 

The young wife extended a hand, and her husband 
counted out to her three large, gold coins. He spoke 
slowly and impressively — “one — two — three,” and as 
they clinked in her palm she saw they were “napo- 
leons” or twenty-franc pieces. 

“Are you sure there are no more bright pieces left in 
that little bag,” Caterina asked playfully. 

Ludovic shook the empty bag over her outstretched 
hand. She felt it, and squeezed it, too, before he put 
back the empty purse in his vest. Caterina dropped the 
‘napoleons’ in her own little chamois bag and replaced 
it in her bosom. To tease him, she now playfully felt all 
around his neck with her hands and she put her fingers 
in his vest collar. 

“What are you doing, little Caterina?” he asked. 

“I am feeling to see if you have any more of those 
dear, little money bags, ’ ’ she replied laughingly. 

“Not one,” he said. “All you find you can have.” 

Caterina was still feeling, pressing all over his vest 
with her fingers. She suddenly stopped near his heart. 
“Oh, Ludovic — what have you got here, it is quite 
hard ? ’ ’ She pressed the place. 

“That is my heart,” said Ludovic, in fun. 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


155 


Caterina laughed gaily. “You are joking — you know 
your heart is not hard. But there is something here — 
let me see what it is ? She put her hand inside his vest, 
and, after feeling about for a moment, she drew out a 
coin. She immediately jumped off his lap and held the 
coin high in air as she danced around in glee. 

1 1 Holy St. Louis ! ’ ’ cried the astonished Ludovic, ‘ ‘ She 
has got another ‘napoleon’ out of me.” 

“You said I could have all I found,” and she took out 
the little chamois bag, dropped in the extra coin and 
replaced it in her bosom. 

“What a stupid I am,” he exclaimed, half angrily, 
“to carry money about with me.” Then as she con- 
tinued laughing merrily he at last joined his laughter 
with hers. “You owe me a big kiss for all that,” he 
said, as he went towards her with arms extended. 

Caterina laughed saucily, “You must help yourself, 
as I did,” and she fell in his arms with her face up- 
turned. As he kissed her several times he felt her 
hands again roaming about his vest. 

Ludovic held her off with outstretched hands, as he 
laughingly cried, “No more — all gone!” 

“Then I must go, too,” she laughed. “I have work 
to do,” and she ran out of the cell with a merry heart. 
She had succeeded far beyond her expectations, and 
she had enough to help Delphine and get herself a new 
costume, as well. She felt proud of her husband, and, 
above all, she was elated over the prospect of doing 
something for Count Charney, who had done so much 
for her. 

Ludovic remained standing near the table in deep 
thought, as his wife’s footsteps died away. “My little 
wife does know a thing or two,” he said to himself, as 
he laughed over his loss. 


156 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


Count Charney returned to his cell in company with 
de Marsay and Delphine. The Count had gained 
in strength and was almost able to stand and sit with- 
out assistance. 

De Marsay had to return, and he told the Count he 
should be able to call on him the next day as he had 
received permission to do so. “Good-bye for the 
present, Count,” he concluded. 

“I shall look forward to your coming, and I hope you 
will not be alone.” Charney bowed politely to Del- 
phine as he spoke. 

Delphine held her father’s arm as they stood near 
the door. “Your nurses will not leave you yet, Count 
Charney, — ” she declared — “You still require our 
care. Good-bye until to-morrow.” 

Charney watched them out of the door and into the 
courtyard until they disappeared along the causeway. 
He noticed Ludovic standing near the table. “How 
well you are looking today, Ludovic,” he said, as he sat 
in his chair to rest. 

“That’s what my wife has just been telling me,” re- 
plied the jailer, a little ruefully, and involuntarily he 
placed a hand against his empty pocket. 

“Ah! Ludovic you are fortunate. You have liberty, 
occupation and a good little wife, while I am shut up 
in this prison with nothing to occupy my mind. In a 
few days I shall be well, the prison rules will be en- 
forced, and I shall live again my former solitary life.” 

“You have your plant, Count,” and the kind-hearted 
jailer pointed through the open door. 

“Yes!” said Charney feelingly; “I should indeed be 
grateful for that blessing.” He paused and thought 
awhile. “Ah! Ludovic,” he resumed, “if you could 
only get me pen, ink and paper — I could occupy myself 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


157 


in drawing sketches of my plant as it grows from day 
to day, and now that I have a microscope I could spend 
hours examining the structure of the leaves and in 
putting my thoughts on paper. ” 

“I dare not give them to you — I have told you that 
you can petition the governor for what you want.” 

‘ ‘ I will never ask that man to grant me a favor. ’ ’ 

“As you please, Count Charney,” said Ludovic as he 
turned to go. . . . “Your door can stay open until 

my last round.” 

Charney paused a moment to see the jailer out of 
sight. Then he slowly dragged his table and chair near 
the door so as to command a view of his plant in the 
courtyard. He thought, “Well, if I can’t get real ink, 
I can fall back on the concoction I made from soot and 
coffee.” He looked out of the door and then went to 
his dressing case, the only personal effect he had been 
allowed to bring into his cell, and taking a key which 
hung from his neck by a cord, he unlocked it. He took 
out the shuttlecock Caterina had left in his cell, and 
which he fortunately had noticed and saved — the bat 
he had thrown over the battlements so that Ludovic 
should not see it in his cell. He had a small pocket 
knife, and with this he made one or two rough pens 
from the quills drawn from the shuttlecock. He spread 
out one or two of his fine cambric handkerchiefs and 
proceeded to test the ink. It was not very satisfactory, 
but it was the best he could get. He was soon absorbed 
in his work, and he succeeded in making a fair copy of 
some of the leaves of his plant and also of the bud as it 
sprang from between two of the leaves near the top. 
While thus occupied he heard the noise of footsteps in 
the distance; but he had ample time to put away his 
treasures, particularly the handkerchiefs on which he 


158 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


had sketched with his crude pen, and he was in his 
usual place when Ludovic returned to lock him up for 
the night. 

“Have you everything you need, Count?” said the 
jailer cheerfully. 

“I think I have everything I am likely to get,” 
answered Charney with resignation. 

“Good night, Count Charney,” said Ludovic as he 
pulled-to the door. 

“Good night, my good Ludovic,” replied Charney. 

Ludovic locked the door from without, and as his re- 
treating footsteps died away, Charney rested his head 
on his hands, as he sat at his table, and became ab- 
sorbed in thought and recollections of the past. 


CHAPTER XI. 


HE morning sun had risen and was shining on 
the eastern tower of Fenestrelle, when Count 
Charney, his strength rapidly returning, took 
his customary seat in the courtyard to gaze 
upon his beloved plant. It was beautiful this 
morning, for at last its bloom was fully open, 
and the fragrance of it was borne to him by the 
balmy air as the flower swayed gently in the breeze. 
“What a wonderful thing is a plant/’ thought Charney, 
"“how marvelous its structure — how beautiful its form — 
how glorious the bloom — how delicate the fragrance — 
how strongly it brings to mind the mysteries of creation. 
From one small seed, dropped by a passing bird, or 
blown hither by some chance wind — this complex struc- 
ture has developed.” He went into his cell for a 
moment and came back with the microscope in his hand. 
He walked around the plant several times to view its 
beauties in every light, and then carefully steadied 
the flower by its stem while he examined it under the 
magnifying power of the lens he held over it. He 
admired the perfect form of the petals, their silken tex- 
ture and gorgeous color-tints, and he marvelled at the 
delicate and threadlike stamens, the filaments of which 
were crowned by shapely little cups of finely powdered 
dust. He went into his cell again, and taking from his 
dressing case the cambric handkerchiefs, quill pens and 
bottle of soot-ink, he drew the table near the door and 
proceeded to sketch the flower and all its interesting 
details. This done, he replaced his things and once 
more seated himself near his plant and became absorbed 
in the contemplation of it. 



159 


160 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


De Marsay’s step failed to arouse the Count from his 
reverie, for he stood near and spoke before Charney was 
aware of his presence. 

“Good morning, Count, still faithful to your com- 
panion/ ’ and here he pointed to the plant — “do you 
never weary of looking at it?” 

“Never!” was the firm reply. “It is the link that 
hinds me to life .... my hope of the future 
. . . . my solace in despair.” 

De Marsay drew Charney ’s hand in his as they sat 
down together. The tower-prisoner spoke words of 
cheer : — 

“I come to tell you not to despair — that you have 
a mission in life.” 

“A mission .... for a prisoner, forgotten and 
left here to die?” 

“Not so,” said the old prisoner earnestly, “there is 
hope for your release.” 

‘ ‘ What is this, ’ ’ exclaimed Charney, ‘ ‘ some mad plan 
of escape — to be shot down by the guards as we attempt 
to leave the fortress?” 

“Not at all — have patience and you shall hear. 
Listen to my news; the emperor is going to Milan, 
where he will be crowned King of Italy!” 

“What emperor?” asked Charney. 

“Why, Napoleon Bonaparte, to be sure. Did you 
not know that the First Consul had assumed the title 
of emperor — the Emperor Napoleon — and having con- 
quered Italy he is going to be crowned king of that 
country. He is to review the troops on the field where 
the great battle of Marengo was fought, five years ago. 
It is said the emperor will mark the occasion by the 
granting of many pardons.” 

“Emperor of France, King of Italy — he will be more 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


161 


than ever your master and mine. ’ * Here Charney rose 
in indignation. “He is a despot/ * he angrily said, 
“he has trampled on the liberty of the people.” 

“A good many have done that,” the old man sadly 
replied. “It is true he keeps me here, a prisoner, but 
I must say his is the wise head and strong arm that 
were needed to bring order out of chaos for our un- 
happy country. ’ ’ 

“Let us change the subject of our discussion, my 
friend — ” Charney spoke with decision — “I can never 
agree with you, in this, I know. ’ 9 

Both were now silent, but at last de Marsay en- 
quired : — 

“Have you any influential friends, Count Charney?” 

Charney shook his head sadly, “I have no friends 
outside of this prison — but stay; yes, I have one” — 
and then remembering, he continued mournfully, “but 
he is doubtless in prison, as I am.” 

“No friends!” exclaimed de Marsay in astonish- 
ment. 

“None!” . . . “I see now; my past life was 

wrong. I was cold and selfish in prosperity, and now 
in time of adversity I am alone and friendless.” 

“Come, Count, it is not so bad as that. Well then, 
I have friends; influential and quite near the em- 
peror. If you will allow me, they shall petition for 
your pardon and mine.” 

“Pardon!” cried the proud Charney, with passion 
in his voice; “I will ask nothing of General Bona- 
parte,” and he paced angrily as he spoke. 

“Hush! Speak lower — here is some one coming!” 
de Marsay rose and listened. There was no one, how- 
ever. He now joined Charney, and together they 
walked and talked. 


162 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


“Count Charney,” the old man went on, “I have 
more cause than you to complain of Bonaparte, for 
my only son lost his life in his service. But I am getting 
old — life is dear to me — I wish to get back into the 
world again and see my daughter happy before I die. 
Hence, I humble my pride, and I am going to petition 
the emperor for a pardon. ” He placed his hand on 
Charney ’s shoulder as he added, — “Will you join me!” 

“I will not humble myself to the power I sought to 
overthrow. ’ ’ 

“Think again,” de Marsay entreated. 

“I will never address as emperor him who was my 
equal.” 

“I implore you to throw away this false pride, be- 
lieve me it is vanity — not patriotism.” 

“I may be obstinate,” the Count replied,” but do 
not mention this again. I am not ungrateful for the 
interest you show in me. I have no means of return- 
ing your kindness, for your Emperor Napoleon stripped 
me of all my wealth when he sent me here. I am as 
poor as the beggar on the street, but of what I have I 
give you.” He went and bent lovingly over his flower, 
as he continued with emotion — “give this to your 
daughter” — and he broke off the precious bloom. 

He Marsay observed the act and cried, “Stay your 
hand, Count Charney, and save the companion of your 
lonely hours.” He spoke too late, for the flower was 
in Charney ’s hand. 

Charney offered the flower to de Marsay. “I thank 
her and you from the bottom of my heart,” he said. 

“I am sorry for this — I appreciate your thanks, but 
I would not deprive you of this for the world.” 

“Take it, my friend — were this the rarest and 
choicest bloom the earth affords, it could not express 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


163 


my feeling of gratitude for the care your good daughter 
gave me during my illness, ’ ’ and he gave the flower to 
de Marsay. 

As they stood thus, Ludovic entered, and his aston- 
ishment was great when he noticed the flower in 
de Marsay ? s hand. 

“Count Charney,” he stammered, “your flower — ” 
and he pointed to it with grief in his voice. 

“Yes, good Ludovic; I have given it away. The 
flower that has grown and unfolded as I watched it day 
by day — I have parted with it.” 

“Well, I suppose you know best — but it seems to 
me — ” he broke off abruptly, shrugged his shoulders 
and walked over to the plant. He bent over and ex- 
amined it. “Count Charney,” he said, as he looked 
up, “If I am not mistaken your plant looks sickly — 
many of the leaves are ready to drop.” 

Charney stepped forward anxiously, when the jailer 
suddenly remembered he had forgotten something. 

“But stay,” said Ludovic, “I have bad news for 
you. The governor says you are quite well now. The 
prison rules are put in force again, and no more visits 
will be allowed.” The jailer did not want to witness 
the sorrow he knew the Count would feel over this 
announcement, and he passed into Charney ’s cell. 

De Marsay drew Charney near the parapet at the 
front of the yard as he exclaimed, “How unfortunate ! ” 

“We may not meet again,” the Count answered 
gloomily. 

“Think over what I have said. I can find a mes- 
senger to take my petition to the emperor — again I 
ask you to join me.” 

“You pain me, my friend. I have told you my de- 
cision.” 


164 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


Ludovic here emerged from the cell and joined 
the Count who was gloomily standing to one side. “I 
tell you what I will do, Count Charney. The governor 
is with his secretary, busy with his monthly report, so 
if your nurses want to say a last word, I will find them 
and send them to you. But you must not keep them 
long. Come, Monsieur de Marsay,” and he turned 
and addressed the tower-prisoner. 

Charney shook de Marsay by the hand warmly — 
‘ ‘Adieu, my kind friend, adieu!” 

“Adieu, Count Charney. I shall present this — ” he 
said, as he held up the flower — “Adieu!” 

Charney returned to his plant and gazed at it sor- 
rowfully. “How bare it looks without its bloom,” he 
thought. “What if it should fade and die? How 
then could I occupy the long day?” He saw the 
leaves were beginning to droop, and he went on one 
knee to examine the stem closely. He rose and passed 
some of the leaves through his fingers, and they seemed 
to be limp. He wondered if the stones were crushing 
the stem, or if something at the root was sapping its 
vitality. “Yes,” he remarked aloud, “it is indeed 
failing — Ludovic will surely help me to save it.” While 
thus engaged he heard a light and now well-known 
step on the causeway, and Delphine stood before him, 
fresh ‘and charming as a new-blown rose, and Charney ’s 
heart beat with the agitation of her presence. 

She took his hand and led him to his seat. “You 
must not try your strength too soon — sit and rest.” 

Her voice was becoming the music of his life! He 
gladly replied, “Provided you will also, Mademoiselle.” 

Delphine laughed gaily. “That is a bargain,” she 
said, and they sat together. 

He forgot he was a prisoner. He saw only the beau- 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


165 


tiful valley below and the distant mountains. He felt 
only the balmy air and the magic of Delphine’s pres- 
ence. He heard only one sound — the entrancing in- 
tonation of her sweet and gentle voice. 

For some moments both sat in silence, — a feeling of 
contentment responding from heart to heart. 

At last Delphine spoke. “My father has told me of 
the governor’s order — I have come to say adieu, and to 
thank you for the beautiful flower you sent me. How 
generous of you to send it — when you prize it so 
much . 9 ’ 

“When I saw just now that you were not wearing 
my flower, Mademoiselle — for I had expected, I had 
hoped to see you wear it — I was afraid my small 
tribute had been too slight for you to notice. . . . 

But Mademoiselle, when I sent you the flower, I sent 
more than a flower, for I breathed a name, your name, 
over it, as I invoked lifelong happiness for one who 
has been a ministering angel through my illness .’ 9 

She was sensible of Charney’s tone and manner as 
she replied, “Do not value too highly an ordinary act 
of kindness, Count, — and as for the flower, it is too 
precious to wear ; it must not be handled. It must be 
carefully preserved, for it has a mission.” 

“What! Mademoiselle!” he cried, “a flower that is 
now withering has a mission! What possible Mission 
can it have?” 

“Some day you may know,” she replied, “do not 
ask me more. I can only say you will approve.” 

“Then, Mademoiselle,” said the obedient Count, 
“though curious, I am silent.” 

“And now, Count Charney, as time is precious, I 
must not waste it. I know what my father asked you, 
and I have come to repeat his request.” 


166 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


Charney had not expected this, and he was dis- 
turbed. 

“Do not object,” she went on, “this is no time to 
stand on ceremony. I ask you to join my father in a 
petition to the emperor for his release and yours.” 

Charney now prepared to speak. 

Delphine held up her hand with a pretty gesture of 
silence. “Forgive me,” she continued, “a young girl, 
for speaking so boldly ; but you must throw away pride 
or you will end your days here in this lonely prison. ’ ’ 

Charney got up and paced to and fro in agitation. 
“Mademoiselle,” he said, “I am deeply grateful to you 
and your father. We have learned to call each other 
friends yet what you ask cannot be.” 

Delphine rose and drew near Charney. She addressed 
him with some decision. “Count Charney, is it right 
or wrong for you to be in prison?” 

Charney stopped in surprise and considered a moment 
— “It is wrong; for I had no personal ambition and I 
sought to protect the rights of the people.” 

Delphine continued, “you are perfectly sure this 
restriction of your liberty is unjust?” 

“I am, Mademoiselle ” he answered with surprise. 

‘ ‘ Then, if you have done nothing wrong, and you have 
nothing to regret — nothing to be ashamed of — how can 
your pride suffer if you petition for the liberty taken 
from you unjustly?” 

“Mademoiselle,” said Charney, discomfited, “I did 
not expect you would argue.” 

“My father and I would save you in spite of your- 
self,” she entreated. 

“Do not trouble over my irrevocable fate” — it was 
apparent Charney would not yield. 

“Have you the right to throw away your life through 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


167 


obstinacy,” demanded the persistent girl. “You see 1 
am plain, but Oh ! Count Chamey, we are your 
friends — ” she paused sadly — “but you refuse our 
friendship. ’ ’ 

Charney felt the despairing intonation, for he started 
forward and took her hand in his. “Do not say that, 
Mademoiselle,” he cried, “or you will wound me. I 
wish to please you — what are your commands ? ’ ’ 

‘ * I have no right to command, ’ ’ she replied in saddest 
tones, “but I entreat you to listen — ” She placed a 
hand gently on his shoulder. “There is no time to 
explain why — but any steps taken after tonight will be 
foredoomed to fail. It must be now! Oh, think well 
before it is too late. Here ! ’ ’ she quickly added, ‘ ‘ I have 
brought you paper and pencil.” She looked along the 
causeway and hastily took the articles from her bosom. 
“Write a petition to the emperor,” she urged, as she 
pressed the paper and pencil upon him. 

“Mademoiselle,” said the embarrassed Charney, as 
he waved the things away” .... I ... .” 

“ Oh ! fatal pride, ’ ’ she cried ; then urgently she con- 
tinued, “take these at once and conceal them, for be- 
fore the night falls you may decide to aid the friends 
who seek to save you.” 

Charney put the articles in his pocket reluctantly. 

“And now I must go,” concluded Delphine. She 
saw Charney standing absorbed in his thoughts. 
“Alas!” — and she clasped her hands in sorrow. “I 
have offended you with my pleading, and now we part 
in constraint.” 

Charney turned quickly to her. “Ah, no, Madem- 
oiselle,” he hastily cried, “No, Delphine,” he said, with 
the utmost tenderness, as he seized her hand and kissed 
it. 


168 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


“What means this, Count Charney — ” and Delphine 
tried to withdraw her hand. 

“You are an angel of goodness, and I love you!” he 
said, as he covered her hand with kisses. 

Delphine was greatly agitated. ‘ ‘ Oh ! do not let us 
speak of this now,” she implored, “for time is speed- 
ing, and I have work before me that calls for all my 
powers of endurance.” 

Charney misunderstood completely, for he replied 
with bitterness, “Ah! I should not have spoken — I had 
forgotten that if ever I leave here, I shall be penniless.” 

Delphine looked at him reproachfully. “And should 
I be any richer than you, Count Charney? Wait till 
you leave this prison — till you have your liberty — 
until the world smiles on you as a free man, and 
then — ” 

“What!” cried Charney eagerly, as he again took 
her hand, “you bid me hope? . . . .” 

Delphine looked up at him with a smile as she gently 
murmured, “I repeat your word — ‘hope.’ ” 

Charney drew her near him. 

“But now I must go — do not forget you have paper 
and pencil in your pocket. I will find a way to see you 
for a moment before I leave tonight. Caterina will be 
with me — so this is our adieu.” She placed her hand 
in his and turned her head away. 

Charney held her hand long, gazing ardently at her 
the while. Then he suddenly took her in his arms and 
kissed her again and again, fervently and passionately. 
For a brief and happy moment she remained thus, then 
gently disengaging herself she lightly ran along the 
causeway and disappeared. Charney watched until he 
could see her no longer, then he walked over to his 
plant and was again examining it when Ludovic reap- 
peared. 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


169 


Ludovic stepped to Charney ’s side and he, too, sur- 
veyed the drooping plant with care. “What has hap- 
pened ?” he asked — “I said to myself when you gave 
away the flower it meant bad luck.” 

“It is not that” — and the Count went on one knee 
to examine closely— “It is the flagstones that are kill- 
ing it. The stem is bruised. It has no room to expand, 
and the plant will starve for want of nourishment.” 

“Yes, you are right,” the jailer acquiesced, “it will 
soon be dead.” 

“Dead!” said Charney sorrowfully — “the companion 
of my lonely hours — “Oh! Ludovic, you can help me. 
Take up two of these stones for me, so that it may 
live.” 

“Impossible! I have no authority to do what you 
ask — you must apply to the governor.” 

“Never!” was the impetuous reply. 

“Just as you like,” remarked Ludovic, “but you will 
excuse me, Count, if I say your pride is out of place. ’ 9 

‘ ‘ And so it must die ; 9 1 and, like the plant, the Count 
hung his head sorrowfully. 

Ludovic was touched with his misery, and he offered 
to speak to the governor about it. 

‘ 1 1 forbid you ! 9 9 the Count said, raising his head. 

“Oh! very well — let it die — it is nothing to me.” 
Ludovic was losing patience and he turned to go. 

“Stay!” Charney cried out, “Would the governor 
understand this favor — the only one I will ever ask?” 

Understand!” replied Ludovic — “why not? He 
knows you love your plant. He could not be so hard- 
hearted as to refuse. ’ * 

The kind-hearted jailer now offered to go and bring 
one of the guards with pen, paper and ink so that 
Charney might write and ask the governor for the life 


170 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


of his plant. Charney still hesitated, but when Ludovic 
waved his hand to call attention to the condition of the 
plant, the Count nodded assent and the jailer went off 
to do his errand. 

Charney ’s thoughts were not pleasant — “And must I 
humble myself to that hateful man in order that my 
poor plant may live.’ , He felt it keenly, and walked 
about in agitation until Ludovic should return. 

At last the jailer returned. “He is coming/’ he 
called out to Charney as he came along the causeway. 
A guard soon appeared bearing the necessary writing- 
material, and he stood by the table in the cell until 
Charney penned a brief note of appeal. The letter 
finished and sealed, the guard w T ent off with it followed 
by Ludovic, who obligingly volunteered to await the 
answer. 

They had not gone long when Charney heard a voice 
from the tower, calling out, ‘ 1 Are you there, Count ? ’ ’ 

The Count started, then turned and walked over to 
the wall below de Marsay’s cell. “Yes, my friend,” 
he called up. 

“Do not speak so sadly,” came the voice of de Mar- 
say. “You see I am near, and if you are careful to 
watch the causeway we can often speak without fear 
of detection.” 

Charney felt that this was cheering indeed, but he 
called up, “I am in trouble, — my plant is dying.” 

* ‘ I feared it would ; it had no room to thrive, ’ ’ came 
the response. 

“I have asked the governor that the stones may be 
moved.” 

“And should he refuse — ” de Marsay asked. 

‘ ‘ Then it must die ! ... . Quick ! ” he suddenly 

called — “go back; some one approaches.” 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


173 


The tower prisoner disappeared from sight none too 
soon, for Lndovic now returned with the governor’s 
answer. 

“I am very sorry; the governor says the pavement 
cannot be disturbed.” The kind-hearted jailer wiped 
his eyes hastily and walked off, rattling his keys, for 
he could not bear to remain and witness the Count’s 
misery. 

Charney sank on his bench and buried his face in his 
hands. He thought long and anxiously over the fate 
of his plant. Presently he sat up — a thought of some 
promise had occurred to him. He went over in the- 
direction of the tower and making a hissing noise, 
while gently clapping his hands, he tried to attract the 
attention of de Marsay; calling to him, — “Are you 
there, Monsieur de Marsay?” He was successful, for 
de Marsay soon stood at his window in the tower. 

“Did you call me, Count?” 

“I did, my friend. Have you a cord or anything that 
will reach down here?” 

“Yes,” was the joyful response, “I have, and if you 
have anything to send, make haste!” 

Charney retired to his cell, drew out the paper and 
pencil he had received from Delphine, and, sitting at 
his table, wrote a brief note. This done, he folded it 
with care, and quickly taking a cambric handkerchief 
from his dressing case he enclosed the note within it. 
Just as he appeared at his cell door he noticed de Marsay 
letting down one end of a slight cord from his window. 
He hastily seized the cord when it reached him, carefully 
tied it around his missive, and giving two quick pulls on 
the cord, he had the satisfaction of seeing it drawn up 
and through the window by the tower-prisoner. He 
heard the sound of approaching footsteps; but fortune 


172 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


had favored him — whoever came would be too late to 
see anything, for his note was now in safe hands. 


CHAPTER XII. 


W HEN Chamey turned to see who came, he 
was surprised — it was some one he had 
never seen before. As she approachd, 
for she was a member of the fair sex, he 
almost rubbed his eyes with astonishment, for the lady 
who drew near was dressed in the fashion of olden 
days. She was tall and slight, and although she 
walked with firm tread and erect carriage, it was easy 
to perceive she was well past middle age, and, in fact, 
out of the ‘fifties.’ Her dress was of generous pro- 
portions and the skirt of it was artificially distended 
by one of those monstrosities, formerly made of whale- 
bone or cane, then later of steel, and known as crino- 
lines or hoop-petticoats. The particular form worn by 
the Count ’s visitor was of the kind known in the reign 
of the Grand Monarch, Louis XIV. Instead of being 
circular, it was oval in shape and it was raised at each 
side to show the high-heeled shoes she wore. The 
material of the dress was a sort of figured poplin that 
dazzled the eye in a vain endeavor to find a pattern. 
But if the dress seemed antiquated and extraordinary, 
what could be said of the hat or head-dress ? — The hair 
was propped up a considerable distance above the head 
by an artificial structure of false hair, carefully con- 
cealed, and this was surmounted by a sort of hat or 
head-dress made of satin ribbon, gathered in at points 
by barrettes and fanciful brooches, and having dangling 
ornaments of gilt chains with pearl clusters and pend- 
ants of brilliants — the whole finished off with aigrettes 
and ostrich plumes. A natural curl, not yet gray, hung 
down at each side of the head. These curls were 


173 


174 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


brought forward over the shoulders, and as the bodice 
was liberally open and cut square, the two curls had an 
effective background in the still smooth and white skin 
of the bosom on which they reposed. As this lady of a 
former period drew near, the Count saw she was hold- 
ing a lorgnon before her eyes — or rather her eye; for 
one was of glass. Charney remembered it could be 
none other than Mademoiselle St. Remy, the maiden 
sister of the governor. And so it proved. 

“Good afternoon. You are Count Charney, I be- 
lieve t” 

“Yes, Mademoiselle, and you are Mademoiselle St. 
Remy, the governor’s sister.” 

“Now that we know each other, I may tell you I have 
called to congratulate you upon your recovery. ’ ’ 

“Thank you, Mademoiselle,” and Charney bowed 
politely, “this is kind of you, and it is considerate on 
the part of the governor to send you.” 

“You go too fast, Count Charney, my brother knows 
nothing of my coming — indeed if he did — ” 

“Then Mademoiselle,” said Charney, rising with 
decision as he recollected Caterina’s unfortunate visit, 
“having congratulated me, please go away at once. 
You are breaking the prison rules — it is dangerous for 
you to be here.” In his anxiety to have her go, the 
Count placed his hand on her shoulder to urge imme- 
diate departure. 

“Count Charney,” said Angelique severely, “you sur- 
prise me. The men of the present day are far from 
being polite. You are very un gallant to thus repay the 
interest I take in you. ’ ’ 

Charney became distracted as he heard a footstep — 
“I want you to go away at once,” he urged. 

“Oh! Count Charney,” she said, with considerable 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


175 


agitation as she rose from the seat he had invited her 
to take when she entered. “Some one is coming — I 
must not be seen here — the whole garrison would talk 
of it. Where can I hide?” She looked about her, 
trembling as she did so. The door of Charney ’s cell 
stood half-open, and she quickly saw it. She ran as 
well as she could, considering her age and her high 
heels, but Charney had guessed her intention, for he 
ran quickly to the cell door and prevented her from 
passing in. But she was ingenious, and she turned as 
if to run off the causeway. Charney unguardedly left 
the door to follow and see her off, and she, seeing the 
way clear, slipped quickly past him before he could bar 
her progress and she reached the door first and entered 
the cell. 

The cell door was rather narrow, and the wide crino- 
line was forced back and up, nearly as high as the top 
of the cell door. This alone prevented Charney from 
seizing the unwelcome intruder, for as he ran after her 
to do so, he was nearly trapped under the crinoline, 
and he fell back abashed before the liberal display of 
feminine frills and furbelows. Angelique dragged her- 
self through with a mighty effort and pushed-to the 
door with haste. 

Charney ’s heart sank, for he saw Ludovic coming to 
close up his cell for the night. He determined to beg 
a favor. “Ludovic,” he said, “will you do me a favor 
— I have a fancy to sleep out all night in the open air.” 
He pointed to his seat as he spoke. 

“You are talking wildly again — that wretched plant 
will bring on another fit of sickness if you are not care- 
ful. Come; I must finish my rounds.” 

“Good Ludovic,” said Charney pleadingly, “leave me 
to enjoy the open air a little longer, and come back 
again.” 


176 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


‘‘No, I am late now, and the governor is very strict 
about the rules. Come, Count; I cannot linger .’ ’ 

Charney got behind the seat and addressed Ludovic 
coaxingly. “Ah! good Ludovic — leave me and come 
again!” He was careful to keep the bench between 
them as he talked. 

Ludovic was perplexed. He respected the Count, but 
had his duty to perform. “This looks bad,” he 
thought. ‘ ‘ Come ! ” he said soothingly, as he followed 
up Charney who carefully kept the bench between them 
as they circled around it. 

Charney, now desperate, prepared to make a dash 
along the causeway with the hope that Mademoiselle 
St. Remy would escape before he could be caught and 
brought back. 

Ludovic, however, managed to put his arm around 
him in time ; and struggling thus, Charney to get away 
and Ludovic to prevent him, they gradually neared the 
cell. Ludovic was the stronger and he managed to 
push the Count in with a last effort. As he locked the 
door he heard quite a crash within. It was nothing 
serious, however. Charney had entered so suddenly 
and the crinoline took up so much room that he had 
dashed against it as he tumbled in. 

One side of the crinoline had merely taken an upward 
flight in the air, and as it did so it knocked the tin 
drinking cup from the table to the floor. 

Charney hastily ran to the window and called, ‘ ‘ Ludo- 
vic; good Ludovic — come back.” 

The jailer could not or would not hear, for he went 
off shaking his head and jingling his keys noisily. 

Charney now thought he heard footsteps, and listen- 
ing carefully he heard a voice that caused his heart to 
beat. The first bugle sounded, and he remembered 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


177 


Delphine had said she would see him before she left. 
He looked through the window and saw both Delphine 
and Caterina. Remembering who was in the cell with 
him, and fearful that something might be said, he 
eagerly waved back the advancing figures. They did 
not understand, apparently, for they drew nearer. 
Charney now alarmed lest Mademoiselle St. Remy 
should see who his visitors were, placed his finger to his 
lips and again waved Delphine and Caterina back with 
eager motions. At last they understood there was dan- 
ger in coming nearer, and hesitating, they stopped, 
paused a moment and then, frightened, ran off. 

Just as they turned to go Mademoiselle St. Remy 
came as near the cell window as she could. She peered 
through her lorgnon, looking over Charney ’s shoulder 
to do so. “I could not see, but it seems to me you 
have other visitors, Count Charney. I do not enquire 
into this at present, for I wish to know how you intend 
getting me out of your cell without any one knowing 
about it.” 

Charney thought and replied, — “It is summer and it 
will be light for some time yet — I confess I know of no 
plan for releasing you as you would wish. ’ ’ 

“What then can we do?” enquired Angelique. 

“We can call out together — some one may hear us 
before morning.” 

The second bugle was now heard. 

“No one must see me here. Your plan will not do 
Count Charney. I am afraid I must accept your unwill- 
ing hospitality for the night. I am very fond of roman- 
tic adventure, and I love the fresh air. I shall be quite 
comfortable, after all, for I see you have a cot — I shall 
rest on that for the night, and you may have the chair. 
I hope Ludovic does not bring your breakfast inside. ’ ’ 


178 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


“No, he puts it outside, Mademoiselle. ’ ’ 

While this tete-a-tete was progressing, Governor St- 
Remy had entered. He heard the voices and stealthily 
approached with a hand to one ear. 

“Ah ! that is all right then,” continued Angelique, “I 
can slip out after Ludovic goes. I am a sound sleeper, 
Count Charney — you must wake me early in the 
morning. ’ ’ 

“Impossible!” said the governor to himself as he 
quietly stepped up and looked in the cell window. 

“My brother!” exclaimed the startled Angelique. 

“Governor St. Remy!” said Charney in surprise. 

“Good heavens! What are you doing here? But 
need I ask” — he added angrily — “the situation explains 
itself. And so, my sister, this is how you spend your 
nights. As for you, Count Charney; you are without 
shame. Remember,” he said sternly — “I represent the 
law. I shall have no mercy on you for bringing this 
disgrace on me.” 

“Brother,” retorted Angelique, “don’t be a fool. 
Let me out and I will explain.” 

“Yes,” said Charney, “we can explain.” 

“I want no explanations. As for getting out — let 
the one who put you in get you out. I see how it is — 
you are both in collusion with the jailer.” 

“It was Ludovic who locked the door,” remarked 
Angelique. 

“Oh! you admit you knew you were being locked 
in — this looks bad for both of you. A clandestine affair 
carried on right under my very nose.” He drew a 
whistle from his coat and sounded a shrill call. 

“Brother!” said Angelique, “do not expose me need- 
lessly. I tell you this can be explained — you will be 
sorry if you let your temper get the better of you.” 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


179 


A guard was now heard approaching and St. Remy 
went and waved him back as he called: — “Send Ludo- 
vic here.” The guard saluted and left, and St. Remy 
returned to the cell window. 

“I suppose you will shield Ludovic, both of you;” 
he enquired. 

“Brother, he did not know I was here.” 

* ‘ I am sure he did not, ’ ’ supported Charney. 

“Strange, if true. Still, I can judge,” went on St. 
Remy. “I shall test the matter in my own way. Keep 
hack out of sight and make no sound.” 

Here Ludovic entered, looking astonished to see the 
governor there. 

“Have you your keys?” enquired St. Remy. 

Ludovic held them up as he saluted and replied, “Yes, 
sir. Here they are. ’ ’ 

“Open that door!” The governor pointed to the cell. 
“Stay!” he added, “Give me the keys!” 

Ludovic handed him the bunch, holding it by the se- 
lected key. 

“Stand here!” ordered St. Remy as he indicated a 
place where Ludovic could see the cell and where he, 
too, could closely observe the jailer. The governor now 
unlocked the door and withdrew a step or two to watch 
Ludovic. The door opened and Angelique appeared on 
the threshold. Dragging her crinoline after her, as she 
had done when entering, the governor’s sister stepped 
out — her never-failing lorgnon held in front of her. 

Ludovic started back with open mouth and a look of 
blank astonishment on his face. “Mademoiselle St. 
Remy!” he ejaculated. 

Charney stepped out. 

“Can you explain this?” enquired St. Remy of the 
jailer. 


180 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


“Sir!” he blankly replied. 

“How did Mademoiselle get in there?” 

Ludovic was puzzled. “Mademoiselle is rather thin; 
she must have squeezed in through the bars.” 

Charney glanced at the crinoline and smiled, in spite 
of the situation. 

Angelique surveyed Ludovic through her lorgnon, as 
she suggested, “Why not say through the keyhole?” 

St. Remy drew Ludovic to one side. “I see you know 
nothing of this,” he said, “and I want you to forget the 
incident as completely as if it had never happened. Do 
you understand ? Not one word of it to anyone, and not 
even a whisper of it to your wife ! ’ ’ 

“I shall remember, sir;” replied Ludovic with a 
salute. 

“Now, go; and leave me to settle this.” 

The jailer, giving a quick look at Charney, left his 
keys in the lock and went off. 

“Are you ready, Governor St. Remy, to hear our ex- 
planation?” Charney enquired. 

“One moment, sir!” replied the governor putting up 
his hand. “I have my own way of investigating. ” 
Turning to Angelique, he spoke on — “Answer my ques- 
tions, ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ without explanation or addition. 
Did Count Charney compel you to go in his cell against 
your will?” 

“Brother 1 ” 

“Did you go in willingly?” 

“Brother” — and she paused again. 

St. Remy was losing patience. “Did he compel, on 
did you go willingly?” 

“Let me explain, my brother.” 

St. Remy angrily pushed her to one side, and addressed 
Charney. “I appeal to you, Count Charney; my sister’s 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


181 


maiden modesty will not allow her to speak definitely — 
much now depends on yonr reply.’ ’ 

“Governor St. Remy,” he replied, “Yon must allow 
me to explain.” 

“Go to the devil, both of you, with your explana- 
tions.” St. Remy stamped his foot with rage. “Ah!” 
he suddenly remembered — “Did I not hear Mademoiselle 
with my own ears when she said she was a sound sleeper, 
and that you were to wake her early so that she could 
slip out of the cell in the morning ? She did not cry out ; 
so she was there willingly. She was going to stay until 
the morning and then slip out — your plans were well 
laid — this is an old story with both of you and it has 
been going on for dear knows how long.” 

“Governor St. Remy!” 

“Brother!” 

St. Remy imperiously waved silence. “I shall not 
distress myself, Count Charney,” and he turned to the 
Count — “You have compromised my sister’s honor. 
Mademoiselle,” he said severely as he turned to her, 
“You have brought disgrace on yourself and, what is 
worse, on me. Fortunately there is a remedy. We will 
make this a family affair — Count Charney, you must 
marry my sister ! ’ ’ 

Charney started hack with astonishment at the gover- 
nor’s absurd proposal, while Angelique looked through 
her lorgnon, first at Charney and then at her brother. 

St. Remy now spoke to his sister, chiding her in 
gentler tones — “Why did you not confide in me, Gelli? 
If you had told me about this little affair I could have 
smoothed your path and made the way easier, without 
the risk of public scandal. Are you ready to settle this 
pleasantly by marrying Count Charney ? ’ ’ 

The more he thought of this marriage the better he 


182 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


liked it. He remembered the Count was very rich, and 
that his wealth was useless to him while he remained a 
prisoner. St. Remy knew Fouche, and he felt sure the 
Minister of Police had it in his power to release Charney 
if he set his mind on it, and if it could be made worth 
his while. The governor was shrewd enough to know 
that sooner or later, his prisoner would be glad to yield 
up a portion of his fortune to obtain his freedom — as so 
many prisoners have done ever since the world began — 
and St. Remy quite understood that a share of the 
ransom would necessarily fall to him if he succeeded in 
his designs. 

“Are you willing ?” he again asked his sister. 

“I am not unwilling, Genni,” she replied sweetly, as 
she looked pleasantly over towards the Count. 

“Then we can look upon it as settled, for you are 
willing, of course, Count Charney; and as soon as the 
law has made you one you can continue your interrupted 
honeymoon. ’ ’ 

“You have lost your senses, Governor St. Remy. To- 
morrow, when your head is clearer, you will understand 
in what a ridiculous light you have placed Mademoiselle 
St. Remy.” 

“I have lost my senses, have I? . . . . We shall 

see! Now, will you marry my sister — ‘Yes’ or ‘No?’ ” 

“Let us terminate this nonsense,” said the disgusted 
Charney — “I am sick of it. You expect an answer. I 
say ‘No!’ ” 

Angelique leaned against the wall of the cell as if over- 
come. “He says ‘No,’ she faintly exclaimed, as she 
reached for the smelling salts that hung by a chain from 
her waist. 

“Very well — ” said St. Remy fiercely, “you shall have 
a few days to think this over. If it is still ‘no’ we can 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


isa 


see how you feel after a week’s imprisonment on bread 
and water, in the underground dungeon.” 

Angelique now went to her brother eagerly and spoke : 
“I have just remembered something of importance that 
concerns your duty as governor of this fortress. You 
must know it at once.” 

“What is it? Speak quickly!” 

“When I was in the cell I am sure I heard a woman’s 
voice. She, or they — for there may have been more than 
one — came near to the window, for I saw the prisoner 
there motioning silence — ” She looked coldly at Char- 
ney, through her lorgnon ; “and,” she continued, “he 
waved some one away in great agitation.” 

The governor again blew his whistle. “Step inside 
quickly my sister ’ ’ — he indicated the cell door — ‘ ‘ so that 
the officer of the guard shall not see you.” 

Women who wore crinolines were probably not aware 
of the absurd figure they cut when the wind blew, or 
when, as in this case, a doorway had to be entered. 
Angelique went into the cell as well as she could, and 
while Charney turned away his head as the crinoline 
again rose in the air, the governor watched every detail 
of his sister’s disappearance with amazement. He won- 
dered that females could dress so strangely; and he had 
never realized until then how thin Angelique really was. 

“You are sure you will not lock me in again?” 
Angelique spoke through the crack as she closed the door. 

No! No! Don’t be foolish!” he called out testily. 
“Ludovic,” — he addressed the jailer who had just en- 
tered — “Call an officer of the guard with three files of 
men ! I want them here at once. ’ ’ Ludovic turned and 
left. St. Remy now addressed the Count, “And so, sir, 
you are in league with some of the women of the fortress. 
You have a plot under way, and these women are inter- 


184 


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mediaries enabling you to communicate with the outside 
world. You will find in a case of this kind that I have 
absolute power over your person, and if you still refuse 
to marry my sister it will go hard with you. ’ ’ 

An officer and six men of the guard now approached. 
The officer saluted, the men presented arms and then 
stood at attention. 

“Officer of the guard/ ’ the governor said, “What 
women have gone out of the fortress during the last 
hour ? ’ ’ 

“Just two, General St. Remy ; Mademoiselle de Marsay 
and Ludovic’s wife.” 

“You are perfectly sure there were no others?” 

“Perfectly sure; General.” 

“Then proceed to the village at once and find them. 
You are to arrest and bring them here with all speed. 
Send Ludovic here quickly to lock up this prisoner,” 
and the governor angrily indicated Charney. 

The soldiers marched off briskly. 

Angelique opened the cell door to see if the way was 
clear. 

Soon the sound of drum and bugle was heard, and the 
gates of the fortress opened for the soldiers to pass out 
to the village of Fenestrelle. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


W E may now be permitted to look back over 
the intervening years since the opening 
of our story, to follow the fortunes of 
those we left in Paris. 

‘Le Cercle Patriotique,’ like many another political 
club, was entirely suppressed by the firm hand of 
Napoleon. Bellegarde, de Barsac and Herault were 
sent to prison and remained there for two years. They 
were then released under surveillance, at M. Dupont’s 
suggestion. 

Charney’s loyal friend, Henri Trouville, haunted the 
prefecture until Renardeau took pity on his misery. 
At last he compassionately told him Charney was 
imprisoned at Fenestrelle, in Piedmont. Nothing more 
was seen of Trouville at the prefecture, for he disap- 
peared from Paris the pext day. He journeyed to 
Fenestrelle, obtained an interview with the governor, 
explained the circumstances of Charney’s arrest and 
asked to share his imprisonment. 

He was dismissed by St. Remy with the advice to 
return to Paris and engage in his own affairs, for, said 
the governor, ‘ ‘ It is easy to get into prison, but hard to 
get out.” But Trouville presented himself so regularly 
and persistently that at last, to get rid of a nuisance, 
the governor ordered that he be accommodated, and 
accordingly the fortress, for the first time in its history, 
received a joyful and willing prisoner. The governor 
gave orders that Charney was not to know of it, and 
so Trouville became buried; for none of his friends 
knew where he had gone. 

The antecedents of Lecaron and Rollin were so ques- 

185 


186 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


tionable that they were held as prisoners at the pleasure 
of the Consul; and this meant for life, for they were 
soon forgotten. 

And what of Picot and Chocquette ? . . . . Their 

crimes were brought home to them with surprising 
rapidity, for the skillful Renardeau had his evidence 
ready, and it was convincing enough to obtain a speedy 
sentence. Prom the time of his arrest, Picot never 
held up his head again ; and a terrible shudder was his 
only response to Chocquette ? s gruesome joke — “cheer 
up, comrade, our heads will roll together in the same 
basket.” And so it really proved, for under the knife, 
together they expiated their crimes. 

Renardeau ’s ability was too great for him to remain 
long as chief detective of the prefecture. M. Dupont 
had recommended him to the First Consul, and he was 
marked for preferment to an administrative position of 
great importance, where his knowledge of men would 
make him an invaluable aid in the plans of the great 
head of France. So Lupin and Belette got preferment 
they hardly expected, for Lupin now became chief of 
the detective staff, and Belette was made his right-hand 
man. 

For some time Napoleon had felt the need of a pri- 
vate councillor of superior intelligence, not to act as 
secretary — for Bourrienne held that responsible posi- 
tion — but rather as Chancellor and trusted deputy in 
negotiations that required skill and tact. He sought a 
blameless man, a man of unquestioned integrity ; in fact, 
the highest type of man. M. Dupont was the only one 
in whom Napoleon felt he could place full confidence; 
and this noble man and just magistrate was about to 
receive preferment of the highest kind, that would take 
him away from the prefecture and make him one of the 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


187 


leading men of his time; a man with a voice in the 
affairs of the nation. 

The Charney mansion remained untouched by any 
process of law. No bill of attainder was issued against 
the Count, nor was any attempt made to sequester his 
estate. This was most unusual. Conspiring to remove 
the head of a state is known as high treason, and a 
man convicted of such offense has his every earthly 
possession stripped from him before he pays the full 
penalty of the law with his own ignominious death. 
But kings, princes and rulers of the past have used the 
process of attainder for high treason as a convenient 
instrument for furthering their purposes of ambition, 
oppression, revenge or spoliation; and it has often hap- 
pened that those who were known as traitors in one 
reign, have become rehabilitated as heroes and martyrs 
in the next. 

To do Napoleon justice, the men he removed from his 
path were dealt with for political and not financial rea- 
sons. In other words, he had no designs on any man’s 
wealth, and in this he was quite unlike the revolution- 
ary leaders who had preceded him. 

A thorough investigation had been made of Charney ’s 
relations with the suppressed ( Le Cercle Patriotique.’ 
An inquisitorial search had been made at his house for 
incriminating papers, but it was fruitless and without 
result. M. Dupont had questioned old Charles on every 
detail of Charney ’s life, and the frank and sincere 
replies of the old butler went far to show that his mas- 
ter had no criminal intent. 

When Renardeau had forced his way into the meet- 
ing place of ‘Le Cercle’ at Bellegarde’s house in the 
rue St. Jacques, he had found one-half of the club 
arrayed against the other in deadly combat. This sharp 


188 


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division between the two halves of ‘Le Cercle ’ was 
evidence of an irreconcilable difference of opinion or 
purpose, and it soon became clear that the respectable 
and intelligent members had unknowingly acted as 
tools in the hands of the unscrupulous Picot. 

M. Dupont was of course aided in his investigations 
by the energetic Renardeau, who thoroughly sifted out 
all matters relating to the defunct ‘Cercle.’ The 
detective was grateful for Charney ’s timely interposi- 
tion on the night of the arrest, for he felt he owed his 
life to the young Count. He threw himself into the 
work with his usual zeal, and aided by Charles, to whom 
he was now greatly attached, he succeeded in establish- 
ing the fact that, at the most, Charney had only acted 
unthinkingly, and was innocent of any wrong intent. 

M. Dupont closed the case and filed away the papers, 
awaiting a favorable opportunity to lay before his busy 
master a recommendation for Charney ’s discharge. He 
was too astute a man to allow these papers to pass 
through the hands of Fouche, and he was compelled to 
wait until there was some lull in the affairs of the 
active Napoleon. He felt it would be unwise to risk 
refusal by approaching his master on the subject at a 
time when state matters of great importance engaged 
his whole attention. So he had to wait. Unfortu- 
nately for Charney this lull never came, for Napoleon 
had no sooner conceived one great project than another 
sprang into being in his fertile mind. 

M. Dupont had frequently called of late at the Char- 
ney mansion, and he became much attached to the faith- 
ful old butler. One thing that particularly touched 
the magistrate was the unfailing persistence with which 
Charles attended the prefecture daily, seeking informa- 
tion of the whereabouts and condition of his young 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


189 


master. This went on for several years. At last his 
perseverance was rewarded, for M. Dupont told the 
delighted old man that he could prepare to make a long 
journey to visit his master. He undertook to procure 
Napoleon’s personal permit, without which nothing 
could be done, and he explained he would call at Char- 
ney’s house, as soon as it was received, and make the 
necessary arrangements. The old man shed tears of 
joy, for he had almost given up hope. He showered 
kisses on the hand of the sympathetic magistrate, and 
that worthy man embraced the old butler and sent him 
home rejoicing. 

In order that Charney’s affairs should not suffer 
unduly by reason of his imprisonment, M. Dupont had 
taken it upon himself to appoint old Charles as guar- 
dian of the Count ’s estate under his, M. Dupont ’s, super- 
vision. The old man was perfectly competent. Already 
for many years, unknown to any one but Margot, he 
had been sending a large sum yearly for deposit in the 
Bank of England to his master’s credit. He had been 
positively instructed to do this by the Count’s father, 
who foresaw tremendous political changes and a 
troubled future for his young son. So it was just add- 
ing to his responsibility ; for the old man, now approach- 
ing his eightieth year, had been fully tried and proved. 
So Charles and Margot carried on the house, and act- 
ing on the magistrate’s advice, the servants were 
retained, and all lived on from day to day hoping for 
news of their young master’s return. 

An incident that occurred soon after Charney’s arrest 
served to lighten the gloom that fell over his household. 
One morning a letter arrived from Brest, and the child- 
ish handwriting on the envelope seemed to indicate 
little Marie as the correspondent. Charles at this time 


190 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


saw M. Dupont daily, and he asked him what he was 
to do about the Count’s letters. The magistrate told 
him that in the meantime he must open them and act 
on Charney’s behalf to the best of his ability. The 
little note proved to be from the grateful Marie, for 
she wrote to thank her cousin and benefactor for his 
kindness in providing so liberally for her education. 
She said her parents before they died had often 
expressed the desire that she should be educated at 
Paris, and her present guardians had decided upon 
sending her to the great city for that purpose. She 
asked her cousin to add to his kindness by naming a 
good seminary, and she concluded with the tenderest 
expressions of love and gratitude. M. Dupont was 
again consulted, and although he had no children of 
his own he was much affected. His kind heart 
prompted a suggestion that many would think unwar- 
ranted and even presumptuous under the circumstances. 
He advised that she should go to an excellent seminary 
he recommended, where day pupils were received, and 
that she should live at Charney’s house. He took this 
upon himself to reward the faithful butler and to divert 
his mind from his master’s troubles, for Charney’s 
release was both doubtful and indefinite. The magis- 
trate soon saw his proposal was acceptable to the old 
man — it was received with joy. M. Dupont found that 
Marie Leclair was the only known relative of Char- 
ney’s, and he judged the Count would surely confirm 
the plan when he heard of it later. 

And so the little Marie came back again, but under 
what changed circumstances. The day she was 
expected back the greatest excitement prevailed. 
Charles felt that in the absence of the master they must 
take all the comfort they could from the presence of 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


191 


the dear little relative, and so he and Margot and all 
"the members of the household were resplendent in the 
finest they had to wear. M. Dupont had decided to 
constitute himself the temporary guardian of the little 
cousin, and he brought Renardeau with him to help 
receive her, thinking it would please the detective who 
was deeply interested, in all that related to Charney. 
The garden gave up its choicest blooms and the halls 
and living rooms were gay with flowers. The magis- 
trate, being unaccustomed to children, was preparing a 
neat little speech of welcome, and Renardeau was think- 
ing of the instability of human affairs, when a fiacre 
dashed up, the door was thrown open by willing hands, 
and before one word of welcome could be spoken, the 
little guest was in Margot’s arms and was being hugged 
with a mixed greeting of smiles and tears. But tears 
are often expressive of joy, too deep for laughter or 
words, and so it was now, for old Charles lifted up the 
little Marie and as she once more smoothed his white 
hair and hugged and kissed him, the tears of gladness 
coursed down his cheeks. He tried to speak, but could 
not form a word. The servants standing in the back- 
ground could be held back no longer, and, regardless 
■of the magistrate and Renardeau, who stood at one 
side with moist eyes, they surrounded the little cousin 
and kissed and laughed and cried to their hearts’ con- 
tent. 

Marie knew of her cousin’s absence, and, young as 
she was, she understood that her benefactor was in great 
danger. As she turned from greeting the servants she 
noticed M. Dupont, and the detective at his side, and 
her keen intuition told her these men had some connect- 
ion with Charney ’s future. She walked gravely to the 
magistrate and offered her hand, which he kissed with 


192 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


well-bred courtesy. She then turned to Renardeau to 
offer him the same privilege, and he, delighted with her 
sweet little disposition, stooped down and kissed her fore- 
head while unconsciously he twisted one of her golden 
curls around a finger of his hand. The magistrate smiled 
approvingly at the detective’s homage, while Marie for 
a moment was in doubt of what her attitude should be 
towards these men who were entire strangers to her. 
She soon settled this doubt, for she went to M. Dupont 
a second time and spoke: 

‘ ‘ Kiss me, sir, ’ ’ she said, ‘ ‘ for I know you are a friend 
of my cousin Charney.” 

The magistrate was charmed with the sweet manner of 
the little girl, and as small things often influence great 
events, so this childish kiss eventually won for her the 
privilege she soon planned to ask for — that of visiting 
her cousin in prison, to comfort him and tell him how 
much she thanked him for his kindness to her. 

“Come Charles!” said Marie as she led the way, “I 
want to see my cousin’s pretty garden.” 

They all followed, and all joined in her contagious 
laughter as she ran delightedly from flower to flower. 
She made them go in the summer house with her— al- 
ready embowered by the early climbing-rose — and all 
had to join hands with her in a circle. 

“This is for luck,” she said. 

Just as they passed out, two butterflies rose in flight 
from the open flowers, and she seized M. Dupont with 
one hand and Renardeau with the other — they were 
standing nearest — and, all three laughing and jumping, 
they chased the elusive creatures until they disappeared 
over the garden wall. 

And so Marie was installed as the little mistress of the 
Charney mansion, and the sunshine of her laughter, the 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


193 


sweetness of her disposition and the kindness of her 
affectionate little heart filled the lives of all around with 
continual pleasure. It was no trouble to wait on her; 
and there was danger of her becoming spoiled. But she 
had undergone trial and privation, and she had lost both 
parents; and her own childish good sense and intelli- 
gence enabled her to live a life that was never selfish. 
She looked to M. Dupont for fatherly protection and 
advice, and that estimable man had also interested Ma- 
dame Dupont, and she at once took the little Marie to 
her own warm heart. So she had kind and sympathetic 
friends. And then old Charles and Margot were all-in- 
all to her, for they were foster-father and mother and 
companions of her play hours. She liked her school and 
her teachers, and her day was filled with happiness, 
although the one overhanging cloud of Charney ’s absence 
was never forgetten. There was no element of selfish- 
ness in her disposition. Every morning she sat alone 
at breakfast in childish state with the faithful old 
Charles waiting on her, as he had loved to wait on his 
young master. Then when she was ready to leave for 
her seminary, the old butler walked by her side — he 
would not hear of her going alone. And in the after- 
noon, when she prepared to return home — Charles was 
always promptly at hand to conduct her in safety. 
Margot offered one day to share this duty with him, as 
she thought it entailed too much work for an old man, 
who had many other duties. The suggestion fell flat — 
it went no further; for the old butler courteously and 
kindly gave Margot to understand that while he lived 
this was his especial duty. 

And so the years pass on, and Marie, little no longer, 
is growing into early and beautiful womanhood; for we 


194 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


have reached the year 1805, from whence we started our 
retrospective survey of the events in Paris since Char- 
ney’s arrest. 


CHAPTER XIV 


I T was the month of May, 1805. Napoleon had been 
Emperor of France for a year and was about to 
be crowned King of Italy. He was at the height 
of his power. His coronation as Emperor of 
France the previous December had been a magnificent 
spectacle, and rumors of the Italian coronation that was 
about to take place agreed on the splendor of the coming 
ceremony. 

#######*## 

The Italian coronation was sometime over when three 
travelers from Paris left the little town of Briangon in 
France, and took their way by the road leading across 
Mont Genevre to Cesara and the valley of Fenestrelle 
in Piedmont. 

At last they reached the village and fortress of Fenes- 
trelle, and after being challenged by the sentry on duty 
at the outer gate and showing their credentials to the 
officer of the guard, they were allowed to pass in. 

Renardeau, Charles and Marie alighted from the 
chaise that had brought them, and an attendant showed 
them into the governor’s reception room. After years 
of patient waiting, Charles and Marie were about to be 
rewarded — the old butler was to see his young master 
once more, and Marie, who had planned and importuned 
M. Dupont for this meeting, was to see her cousin and 
benefactor again. 

The magistrate had courteously assigned the willing 
and gratified Renardeau as guardian of the two on their 
journey, for after untold difficulties he had wrested the 


195 


196 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


necessary permission from the busy Napoleon in spite 
of strong opposition from the police minister Fouche. 

The travelers arrived on the morning of the annual 
village fair. The governor was out at the time, but 
was near at hand, for he soon made his appearance. 
Renardeau introduced himself and made known his busi- 
ness, and also gave the necessary introduction for his 
fellow-travelers. 

St. Remy received them ungraciously, and taking into 
consideration the youth, beauty and station of Marie, 
his manner seemed to border on rudeness. The governor 
was anxious to stand well with the emperor, and he saw 
no reason why he should go out of his way to be polite 
to the friends of Charney, for he remembered quite well 
that the Count was imprisoned as an enemy of the 
former First Consul and now powerful emperor. Be- 
sides, Charney ’s refusal, the night before, to consent 
to a marriage with Angelique, made him furious, for he 
had set his heart on carrying out this stupid project. 
So he did not ask his visitors to be seated, nor did he 
make the enquiries, customary in those days of uncom- 
fortable travel, of how they had fared in their long and 
trying journey. His discourtesy was particularly no- 
ticeable, for St. Remy came of what was known as a 
good family. Unfortunately, his advantages of birth 
and education were swamped under his vanity and sel- 
fish disregard of the feelings of others. Charles courte- 
ously and unobtrusively seated Marie in a chair, and, on 
a motion from Renardeau, he also sat. The detective 
then took a chair as he surveyed the standing governor. 
Renardeau had seen and observed too many men in his 
day to be put down by the pompous St. Remy. He saw 
through him at once, and estimated him at his proper 
worth. The governor, left standing alone, soon became 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


197 


conscious of the situation, and seated himself with 
ill grace. He was prepared to place many obstacles in 
the path of these people who sat before him. 

Renardeau now proceeded, “General St. Remy,” he 
said, “we bring an order for an interview with one of 
your prisoners.” 

“Who is this prisoner?” replied the governor, al- 
though he had already been told. 

“It is Count Charney, ’ ’ quietly repeated the detective. 

“Your order must needs be in correct form, and from 
an authority I can recognize, or you will have your 
journey for your pains,” sneered St. Remy coldly. 

Renardeau was not the man to lose his temper. He 
quietly drew out from his pocket a document which he 
handed to St. Remy with the remark, “the form of the 
order is correct — its meaning is clear and the authority 
you will readily recognize, for it is no less than Baron 
Dupont, the chancellor of the Emperor.” 

St. Remy smiled cynically, “I am subject to the orders 
of the governor of Piedmont in military matters,” he 
remarked, “but in matters relating to my prisoners I 
am subject only to Fouche, the Minister of Police; and 
without his signature your order is useless.” He threw 
the order on the table contemptuously, and rose to indi- 
cate that the interview was ended. 

Marie burst into tears of disappointment, and the ex- 
pression on the face of poor old Charles was pitiable to 
behold. 

St. Remy smiled with triumph and satisfaction. 

Renardeau made a consoling gesture towards his com- 
panions, and did not act like a defeated man. On the 
contrary he seemed to be confident of his ability to con- 
trol the situation, for he motioned the governor to sit 
down again, as much as to intimate that the interview 
was not yet ended. 


198 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


The governor resumed his seat with surprise, wonder- 
ing what this calm, self-possessed man could now have 
to say. 

It was characteristic of Renardeau that when in doubt 
he became very nervous and restless. On the other 
hand, when perfectly sure of his ground, no one could 
be calmer than he. Old Charles knew this well, and 
took courage when he saw his friend sitting quietly in 
his chair with a peaceful smile on his lips. 

“General St. Remy ;” the detective remarked quietly, 
“you pay a poor compliment to our intelligence. Take 
up the order I gave you, turn it over and read what 
you find there / 1 

St. Remy felt his defeat as he took up the order, for 
boldly countersigned on the back he saw the words 
* ‘ approved — Fouche. ’ ’ He considered a few moments ; 
then he offered further objections, for he continued — 
“But, M’sieu, this order is dated in May — it is old, for 
we are now in the month of June.” 

“Ah! General St. Remy,” affably remarked Renar- 
deau, “as you do not appear to know, I will tell you — 
orders of this kind are good until the end of the year. ’ ’ 

The governor knew this quite well, and it was dawn- 
ing on him that he could not browbeat this man. 
“But,” remarked St. Remy, a smile of triumph now 
lighting up his face, “the order says nothing about the 
length of your visit, and five minutes is all I can allow 
on an order of this kind. ’ ’ Again he rose, for this time 
he felt there was no answer possible, and he deter- 
mined to make the interview as fruitless and unsatisfac- 
tory as he could by being present himself. 

Renardeau now stood erect, and with a hand extended 
towards St. Remy, addressed him, quite regardless of 
rank or title. He spoke with calm authority, and 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


199 


the governor started with surprise as the detective drew 
from his pocket a small leather case; “M’sieu,” said 
Renardeau, “wherever I go, prison-cells open at my 
command as often and for as long a time as I deem 
necessary. ’ ’ 

“I did not know you were a public functionary,” 
said the crestfallen governor — now feeling sure he had 
made a mistake — “what office do you hold?” 

“I am inspector-general of prisons — here is my 
authority;” and he extended the open case in which 
the humiliated St. Remy at once recognized the well- 
known signature of Napoleon. 

“I ask your pardon,” St. Remy said, and he was 
angry at himself for his wretched blunder. 

“Let us waste no more time,” Renardeau quietly 
replied, “and please place at our disposal a man who 
knows the fortress, for I am anxious to proceed with 
the work that brought us here.” 

The governor first asked his guests, with bows and 
polite words, to be seated; and went off without loss 
of time to summon Ludovic. 

Charles and Marie, relieved of their anxiety about 
the interview, and proud of Renardeau ’s protection, 
soon became cheerful, and it was not long before the 
governor returned with the kind-hearted jailer. Ludo- 
vic was instructed to conduct the party to Charney’s 
cell, and anywhere else they might want to go. With a 
parting invitation from St. Remy to return for dinner, 
they started off ; two of the party trembling with joy 
over the prospect of the meeting, and Renardeau him- 
self looking forward to it with infinite pleasure. 

Ludovic noticed the deference the governor paid to 
Renardeau and his companions, and, in the absence of 
specific instructions, he understood they were at liberty 
to go about as they pleased. 


200 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


Renardeau ascertained from the jailer that Count 
Charney was then taking his daily outing in his own 
courtyard, and he planned the details of the visit. 

They would no-t enter all at once, but would go 
singly, to give him a triple surprise ; and Ludovic was 
instructed not to return for them until noon. 

Charles was the first to go, while the others remained 
at a distance and talked with Ludovic. 

Charney was seated on his bench gazing at his plant. 
He had gained strength since the day before, and was 
able to sit out and enjoy the balmy air of June. His 
beloved plant was wasting away before his eyes, and he 
was sadly wondering how many days of life were left for 
it. The ears of prisoners become very acute, and as the 
Count listened, he heard the sound of footsteps, different 
to any he had noticed in Fenestrelle. He turned to see 
who came, and in a moment he was in the arms of the 
old servant who kissed him repeatedly and cried over 
him for joy. Charney took the old man’s hands in his 
and drew him down to the bench, where they sat together 
and talked long and earnestly over the past. Following 
Baron Dupont’s admonition, the old butler avoided all 
reference to political matters, and this proved to be an 
easy task, for Charney had many questions to ask relat- 
ing to his own private affairs. 

The Count was greatly surprised when he learned that 
his house was open and in the care of his faithful ser- 
vants, and was astonished that his property had not 
been seized or sequestered in any way. He showed such 
a keen interest in the welfare of those who served him 
that the old butler was touched by his master’s consid- 
eration. Charles made known the instructions he had 
received years ago from the young Count’s father, and 
he showed him a record of the deposits at his credit in 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


201 


the Bank of England. This lifted a load from Charney’s 
mind. To do him justice, all through the years of his 
imprisonment his constant thought had been about the 
welfare of his servants. He had imagined them scat- 
tered and perhaps in want. His imprisonment had 
made him more thoughtful — he was gradually learning 
to think of the welfare of others. 

He now knew that his father’s forethought and the 
faithful stewardship of old Charles had set aside for him 
an independent fortune, in a country where it was abso- 
lutely safe from political storms. His mind would now 
be easy, for the future of those who served him was 
assured. He had now been in prison so long that he 
had lost all hope of his release, and he gave Charles full 
instructions relating to the disposition of his estate in 
the event of his own death ; for he fully understood the 
dangerous position in which he was placed. 

Charles now prepared to mention the name of little 
Marie, or, as she must now be called, Mademoiselle 
Marie ; for she was little no longer. He hesitated awhile 
to find courage, for he did not know in what light his 
master would regard the incident. At last he told of it ; 
gazing at him with anxiety as he made it known. 

Charney’s surprise was great, and he sat silent and 
absorbed for some time while his faithful old servant 
continued to watch him with eager look. 

The mind of the old servant was soon put at ease, for 
a smile of satisfaction lighted Charney’s face as he 
turned to grasp the old butler by the hand, while he 
told him he had done well, and that M. Dupont had 
advised wisely. To tell the truth, Charney felt relieved 
and pleased. He had long accused himself for his 
indifference to his only relative, and this interview, won 


202 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


after years of patient effort, had already given Mm a 
calm of mind he had not enjoyed for years 

But Charles heard and knew the approaching footstep, 
and making an excuse to see his master’s cell he dis- 
appeared inside, just as the impatient Marie ran in. 

Again the Count rose from his seat, and before his 
thoughts had time to shape themselves a fair and beauti- 
ful young girl was in his arms, and regardless of pro- 
prieties — for she was almost a woman — her arms were 
about his neck, and cousinly kisses were his such as only 
a warm-hearted and grateful girl could give. 

Old Charles discreetly slipped off to join Renardeau 
and Ludovic, while the cousins sat down together and 
indulged in one of those confidential chats that are only 
possible between blood relations. 

No one could talk to Marie for any length of time 
without feeling her personal charm and the winning 
sweetness of her manner. She had looked forward to 
this meeting for years — to thank her cousin and give 
him all the comfort and hope her young heart could feel. 
They sat hand-in-hand ; but at times she threw her arms 
about him as she exclaimed with joy, “Oh! Cousin 
Charney, I am so glad to see you!” 

Charney’s heart responded fully to Marie’s affection- 
ate demonstrations. He had been a lonely prisoner for 
years, and the tears came to his eyes as he realized how 
this young girl had thought of him constantly, and had 
worked and pleaded long for permission to see him. He 
knew that Marie was the only relative he had living, and 
he felt they should be much to each other, as they were 
now the last of a once large and powerful family of many 
branches. The constraint that ordinarily might have 
existed between them, was absent, for Charney looked 
upon Marie as a child; and she, in those flights in the 


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203 


future that all young girls take, had never thought of 
him as more than a cousin. Marie told Charney of her 
school days and all about the friends she had made. 
She chatted about her home life and told her cousin all 
the details he wanted to know about Charles and Margot 
and all the rest of the household. She talked to him of 
his beautiful garden in his beloved home — far away, and 
she eulogized Baron Dupont and the Baroness, both of 
whom had been so kind to her. She ran on about the 
clever Renardeau, and — throwing her arms around 
Charney ’s neck — she concluded, with smiles and tears, 
‘ ‘I pray every night for your speedy release, Cousin 
Charney.” 

Charney was cheered by his sweet cousin ’s artless rela- 
tion of all the details he had longed to hear, and he in turn 
told Marie of his solitary life during the past years. He 
spoke of his recent illness, of Caterina, de Marsay and 
. . . . of Delphine. He did not tell all, but Cousin 

Marie soon guessed, for again she threw her arms about 
him as she exclaimed, ‘ ‘ 1 long to see the lovely Delphine ; 
and Oh, Cousin Charney, I know she is good as well as 
beautiful, or you would not love her as you do.” 

And so they talked on with perfect freedom. 

But Renardeau was waiting his turn, and Marie 
remembered he had planned to be in Briangon, on the 
homeward journey, before darkness set in. So Marie 
left — first telling her cousin she would be back, ere long, 
to say good-bye. 

As Charney watched her go he saw a figure he remem- 
bered well, for every incident of the last meeting of “Le 
Cercle Patriotique” was firmly placed in his memory. 
There was no doubt of it — Renardeau stood before him. 
Charney shook the detective’s hand warmly, and he 
could not help feeling a little thrill of hope when he 


204 


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understood Charles and Marie had journeyed under 
Renardeau’s care and protection. But this feeling soon 
wore away ; for the detective carefully avoided all refer- 
ence to political matters, and he evaded all questions 
relating to anything but personal things that were unim- 
portant in character. He did tell Charney, however, 
the fate of those arrested on that stormy night in Janu- 
ary, five years ago. The Count heard with satisfaction 
of the ultimate release of those who had defended him; 
he was convinced, from what Renardeau told him, no 
mistake had been made in the case of Lecaron and Rollin, 
and he felt shocked at the fate of the two criminals who 
had given up their lives for their crimes. Renardeau 
could give no explanation about Trouville, although 
Charney pressed him to do so. 

As a matter of fact the detective could have told 
more than he did, for he had made a discovery since 
coming to Fenestrelle that day. But he was none the 
less the Count’s friend for being discreet, and, un- 
known to any one but Baron Dupont and Mademoiselle 
Marie, he was at work on plans for obtaining Charney ’s 
release. Unfortunately, he was at a complete stand- 
still, for the one man he depended upon for the evi- 
dence he needed could not be found. This man was 
Trouville, who had disappeared from Paris years be- 
fore — leaving no trace behind him. Renardeau was 
always busy, and he left little to chance. But this time 
chance threw herself headlong in his way, for on talk- 
ing with Ludovic, while awaiting his turn for his in- 
terview with Charney, he learned the incident of the 
stranger who had insisted upon being imprisoned. It 
came in a flash to the detective that he had given 
Trouville the name of Charney ’s prison, and he blamed 
himself for not remembering this before. He returned 


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205 


immediately to the governor’s office and read the list 
of the commitments from the register, bnt Trouville ’s 
name was not there — the governor did not look on him 
as a regular prisoner and his name had not been placed 
on the roll. Renardeau learned his whereabouts from 
St. Remy, and, while Mademoiselle Marie was engaged 
with her cousin, the detective took old Charles with 
him, and Ludovic admitted them to the cell they sought. 
Dismissing the jailer, Renardeau and Charles entered. 

Poor Trouville was in tolerable health, but he was 
despondent and almost weary of life. He knew the 
detective at once, and his coming stirred the poor 
prisoner with hope. 

“Is Charney released — am I free?” he eagerly ex- 
claimed; then he turned and embraced the astonished 
Charles. 

The detective briefly explained his plans and told 
Trouville he wanted his assistance in Paris. The 
prisoner was delighted at the thought of going. He 
asked to see Charney before leaving Fenestrelle, but 
Renardeau told him it would not be possible, and 
Trouville reluctantly yielded the point. Calling Ludo- 
vic to help Trouville in his preparations for leaving 
Fenestrelle, the detective sought Charney, but in his 
interview with the Count he was careful not to refer to 
Trouville in any way. He had a reason for this, and 
besides he did not want to raise hopes that might never 
be realized. 

Substantial refreshments were served in the gov- 
ernor’s room, but Mademoiselle Angelique St. Remy 
did not appear — she was indisposed. 

A lengthy and affecting leave-taking now took place. 
Each had a few final words of cheer and comfort to 
give, and these words had to be repeated again and 


206 


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again. But at last, in response to Renardeau’s quiet 
gesture that they must now go, the last words of hope 
and farewell were said, the last hand pressure was ex- 
changed, the cousinly kiss of affection — the fatherly 
benediction — the friendly embrace — all were given, 
and Charney was once more alone. 

Renardeau, Charles and Mademoiselle Marie were 
joined by Trouville at the principal gate of the fortress, 
and together they all set off for Paris. 


CHAPTER XV. 


T HE sun shone brightly on the early morning of 
Friday, June 14, 1805, revealing a scene of 
animation along all the roads leading into the 
town of Alessandria. From far and near, on 
foot, on horseback and in vehicles of every description, 
thousands of people were pressing eagerly forward to 
witness the great review of troops that was to be held 
that day. 

It was the anniversary of a day famous in Napoleonic 
annals — the day of Marengo, when the great leader had 
engaged in battle with the Austrian army under Melas, 
and after a tremendous conflict, had gained a decisive 
victory that placed all Italy in his hands. 

Once more the little village of Marengo and the plains 
around were to be trodden by marching troops, once 
more the earth was to shake under the fierce charge of 
advancing cavalry, and again the hills to the west of 
Alessandria were to resound with the thunderous echoes 
of discharging artillery. Once more the bridges over 
the peaceful Bormida were to be crossed and recrossed 
by the squadrons of war ; but this time they were not to 
be jammed by flying infantry, cavalry and artillery, 
mixed in the inextricable confusion of disastrous defeat — 
the banks of the river were not to witness again the 
dreadful carnage of former years, nor was the peaceful 
stream again to be dyed crimson with human blood. . . 

For Italy now rested in repose, and the forces of war 
were gathered today in peaceful celebration of the great 
victory, now five years in the past. 

It had been known for some time that Napoleon would 
command the troops in person, and all through the week 


207 


208 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


the highways converging on Alessandria had been pour- 
ing in travelers and sightseers eager to obtain a glimpse 
of the great captain when he should appear at the head 
of his victorious legions. His name was on every one’s 
lips, and innumerable were the stories told of his won- 
derful career. No one enquired how they should know 
Napoleon when they saw him ; for his face and features, 
his form, his hat and the celebrated drab great-coat were 
now known all over the world. 

On a mound or eminence of the great plain of Marengo 
had been erected the imperial throne or viewing-stand 
from which the Empress Josephine could witness the 
evolutions of the troops. It was gorgeous with color, 
and the banners and flags fluttering in the summer 
breeze gave it a gay appearance. The imperial banner 
in the center bore Napleon’s monogram, surrounded with 
the emblem, of triumph — the laurel wreath — and it raised 
its head in proud majesty above the level of its fellows. 
The empress was seated under a protecting canopy that 
sheltered her from the rays of the sun ; but the day was 
beautiful and the heat was temperate, even for those 
who stood without protection, for masses of white and 
fleecy clouds passed along the sky in slow procession, and 
without shedding darkness or gloom over the earth they 
screened all below from the sun’s direct rays. Groups 
of ladies belonging to Josephine’s retinue were scat- 
tered about in choice and elaborate out-door summer 
costume, and mingling with them were dignitaries of the 
Italian court and representatives of the nobility of both 
sexes from France and Italy who were present as invited 
guests. Groups of staff-officers moved to and fro. A 
general and two colonels stood near the throne — the 
former explaining to the empress the military evolutions 
of the day. Aides-de-camp in glittering orders were 


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209 


coming and going, giving reports from the field. Nearly 
all had field glasses and lorgnettes, through which they 
looked from time to time as they watched the progress 
of the review. A detachment of imperial guards, in 
resplendent uniform, stood near the empress. At some 
distance from the imperial reviewing-stand the people 
spread right and left in great masses, occupying all the 
favorable positions that were open to them. Many who 
had been standing witnessing the review for some hours, 
and who knew the emperor and his suite would eventu- 
ally pass off the field by the main road leading to Ales- 
sandria, now abandoned their posts of observation and 
took places in the hedgeways, on walls and in the trees 
along this road, to catch a close glimpse of the great 
Napoleon when the review should be over. 

The day was wearing to a close and the review was 
nearly over, when two young girls, tired, travel-stained 
and weary, essayed for the twentieth time, to draw near 
to the imperial throne. They had arrived late, and they 
were nearly exhausted with the exertion it had been 
ncessary to put forth to reach the field of Marengo. 
They had been turned back again and again in their 
efforts to draw near to the empress, hut, although they 
were without food all day, they persisted in their cause. 
At last their perseverance and courage won a victory, 
for at the risk of being trodden down by the cavalry who 
now advanced in a tumultuous charge, they succeeded 
in crossing the lines under cover of the smoke from the 
artillery, and before they could be intercepted, they ran 
into the arms of the imperial guard surrounding the 
throne of the Empress Josephine. 

Noticing the commotion, an officer quickly drew near. 

He addressed the one of the intruders who was nearer 
to him. ‘‘You have lost your way, Mademoiselle! This 


210 


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is the imperial enclosure — you must turn back at once. ” 

“Turn back, sir? We cannot,” and here she took the 
hand of her companion and drew her near. “We have 
walked all day yesterday and today, to present a petition 
to the empress.” 

Mademoiselle, you must retire — ” the officer spoke 
kindly but firmly — “No one is allowed to approach the 
empress in this manner. Withdraw immediately ! ’ ’ and 
he advanced to press them back. 

“Oh! What shall we do?” She who had spoken turned 
to her silent companion. 

Another officer now joined the group. “What does 
this mean, Louis; do these young ladies not understand 
they are trespassing where none may come?” 

“Oh! Sir — ” said the young girl who had spoken 
before — “We have walked many weary miles to present 
a petition to our good empress. You will not turn us 
back ; ’ ’ she said imploringly. 

“Yes, Mademoiselle!” said the second officer, “there 
is no help for it. Your petition will keep, and at a 
more fitting time and place you can find some one to 
present it.” 

At this moment when the girls were about to turn 
despairingly away, a man of dignified and commanding 
presence passed quite near. He looked towards the 
group as he passed, and the young girl who had taken 
the lead hitherto made a step towards him with the 
determination of despair. 

“Oh! Sir;” she said, “you have a kind face. Will 
you not befriend two helpless girls?” 

He who was thus addressed stopped in surprise; and 
while the officers both drew near to explain the situa- 
tion, the two girls stood watching him with imploring 
gaze. He addressed the officers, “Why, what does this 
mean — What has happened?” 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


211 


The officer who had been the first to interpose explained 
that the young ladies had a petition for the empress. 

He who had come second now added, “Well, as I said, 
their petition will keep. I am going to give them an 
escort to get them off the field in safety.” The speaker 
turned to go. 

“Wait, Colonel,” said the one to whom the appeal had 
been made by the young girl now standing near him. 
He turned to her, “What is the nature of your peti- 
tion?” he enquired. 

“It concerns my father, who is imprisoned in Fenes- 
trelle.” 

“In Fenestrelle ! ” he exclaimed with a start of sur- 
prise. “His name?” 

“Louis de Marsay,” replied Delphine. 

“Louis de Marsay, your father! Is he in Fenes- 
trelle ? ’ ’ was the enquiry. 

“Don’t forget to tell him about Count Charney,” sug- 
gested Caterina in a whisper from behind. 

“What name did I hear?” 

“Our petition relates to Count Charney, who is also a 
prisoner in Fenestrelle.” 

“Poor Charney! In the rush of many events I had 
forgotten him.” 

“How, sir; you know Count Charney — then you will 
help us, I know.” 

While this conversation had been in progress, the 
empress had noticed the slight commotion caused by the 
unexpected arrival of the two girls, and she sent an 
aide-de-camp , who soon returned to her. 

The empress now spoke, “Come, Baron Dupont; you 
have roused our curiosity — something unusual has 
occurred. ’ y 

“There has, your Majesty,” respectfully replied he 


212 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


thus addressed, and who was none other than the former 
M. Dupont, now ennobled by the emperor and acting as 
his chancellor. He stepped near the empress as he spoke, 
and explained that two young girls sought to present a 
petition to her. 

The empress considered and remarked, “A petition — 
here ! ’ ’ 

“May I stand sponsor for them, your Majesty ;” said 
Baron Dupont — his benevolent face lighting up with 
enthusiasm — “and in so doing I promise a story that 
will appeal to your Majesty’s kind heart.” 

‘ ‘ Ah ! Baron, are you turning courtier ? How can we 
hear a story in the midst of such excitement, and on a 
day so filled with memories of the glorious victory of 
Marengo ? ’ ’ 

“What your Majesty decides — is right.” The Baron 
here bowed and then looked anxiously towards Delphine. 

Josephine looked through her lorgnette in the direc- 
tion where the evolutions were going on. After a 
moment she put down the glass. “Stay, Baron — ” she 
said — “The emperor has gone far afield. He is nearly 
out of sight.” Turning to an officer who was near, she 
continued, “Is the review over, Colonel Fleury?” 

The colonel saluted as he replied, “Not yet, your 
Majesty. The emperor has gone to the spot where poor 
Dessaix, of glorious memory, entered the field of 
Marengo, five years ago. The columns will re-form and 
march this way, just as they did on the day of battle, 
and then the younger Kellerman with his magnificent 
cavalry will pass in review before the emperor, as they 
repeat the terrible and irresistible charge that decided 
the eventful day.” 

“General Montaubun,” enquired the empress of an 
old officer who now came near, “Did the emperor tell 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


213 


yon at what point he would leave the field when the 
review is ended?” 

“He did, your Majesty — ” and the old soldier bowed 
with courtly grace — “the final movement is to bring all 
the troops this way. The emperor will pass along the 
lines, and then with his whole staff he will go off the field 
at a gallop along the highway to Alessandria.” 

‘ ‘ Come, then, Baron ! ? ’ said the kind-hearted Josephine, 
“We will fill in the interim by doing an act of kindness. 
Let the petitioners draw near ! ’ ’ The empress now came 
down from her throne, and with her ladies and gentle- 
men extending in a wing to left and right of her, she 
prepared to hear the petition about to be made. 

Baron Dupont now approached, supporting Delphine 
and Caterina. “I present,” he said — “two petitioners 
who implore that your gracious Majesty will listen to 
their prayer.” 

Delphine, the petition in her hand, stepped forward 
to present it, but she was overcome with emotion, and 
stood still as she trembled in her grief. 

Poor Caterina, now that the vital moment had arrived, 
was overwhelmed at the thought of what this meant for 
Count Charney, and she fainted away in the arms of a 
young aide who, fortunately, stood quite near her. She 
gradually recovered, and the good Josephine now 
approached her. Caterina was again overcome and once 
more she fainted when she saw the empress so near. 

“Lead the poor girl to a seat,” commanded the con- 
siderate Josephine. “She turned to address Delphine, 
“Take courage, Mademoiselle; control your feelings. I 
will hear your prayer.” 

Delphine threw herself at the feet of the empress and 
taking the imperial hand in hers, she kissed it. 

“Rise, Mademoiselle,” said the stately Josephine, in 
kindest tones, as she assisted Delphine to her feet. 


214 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


“Ah! your Majesty,’’ exclaimed Delphine — in a burst 
of love and devotion — “All that I have heard of your 
beauty and goodness are as nothing to the reality. ’ ’ 

1 ‘ Take care, Mademoiselle ! Have you been brought up 
at court?” 

“Ah! no, your Majesty — your kind condescension 
made me speak from my heart.” 

“Come, then; let us understand what you ask. First, 
from whence do you come?” 

‘ 1 I come from the prison-fortress of Fenestrelle. ’ ’ 

“How far is that from here, General Montaubun?” 
enquired the empress. 

“About eighty miles, your Majesty!” 

“You came here in a carriage, then?” she said to 
Delphine. 

“We could not get a carriage, your Majesty.” 

‘ ‘ Then you rode on horseback all that distance ? ’ ’ 

“Your Majesty, except for an occasional lift in market 
wagons, we walked the whole way.” 

Astonishment was visible in nearly every face, and 
all pressed forward eagerly to hear more clearly. 
Caterina had now recovered and she rejoined Delphine. 
although she kept in the background as much as she 
could. 

“Poor girls !” said the noble empress, “what devotion 
and courage. Here are true daughters of France — no 
wonder our soldiers conquer wherever they go. But you 
are weak and exhausted.” She turned and addressed 
Colonel Fleury and he gave an order to some one near, 
for in a few moments two camp seats were brought in. 
“Come sit,” she directed, “and tell me your story.” 

“But we cannot sit in the presence of your Majesty,” 
replied Delphine respectfully. 

“We command you to do so. Common sense and 
humanity are superior to etiquette.” 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


215 


Delphin e and Caterina yielded reluctantly and sat y 
and soon a portable chair was brought in for the use of 
the empress. 

“Your name, Mademoiselle, and that of your compan- 
ion ?” resumed Josephine. 

“I am called Delphine de Marsay — my companion is 
Madame Caterina.” 

“Madame — that young girl! I presume she has no 
interest in your petition. She is doubtless here as a 
companion to give you courage in your journey.” 

“Madame! — Empress” — spoke Caterina as she gath- 
ered courage. “I have also come to petition for another 
prisoner in Fenestrelle. ” 

“We understand;” the empress graciously volunteered 
— “Your husband is imprisoned there.” 

Caterina shook her head, but made no reply. 

“Your Majesty,” interposed Delphine; “her husband 
is not imprisoned — he is the jailer of Fenestrelle.” 

“The jailer!” all cried, and Josephine gazed with 
astonishment. 

“If I am not mistaken,” offered General Montaubun, 
“there is a hidden romance here.” 

“Mademoiselle,” continued the empress as she ad- 
dressed Delphine, “we are already much interested in 
you — proceed with your story.” 

“I am here, your Majesty, to petition for the release of 
my father, Louis de Marsay.” 

“Why is he imprisoned?” 

“Your Majesty, he was arrested and imprisoned by 
order of the emperor.” 

“Then he is guilty of some great offense.” 

“Pardon me, your Majesty — ” and Delphine rose — 
“he is absolutely innocent of any wrong.” 

“We have patience, Mademoiselle, but you do not 


216 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


expect we can listen to accusations against the justice 
of the emperor’s acts. We shall refer your petition 
to the Police Minister, Fouche.” 

Delphine now showed great agitation. “Your Majesty 
would refer my petition to that inhuman monster, 
Fouche? My father is innocent. He is kept in prison 
by Fouche to serve some secret personal end.” 

A profound silence now prevailed, and nearly all 
wondered at and admired the bravery of this outspoken 
girl. 

Delphine drew herself up proudly as she went on — 
“Louis de Marsay was a faithful servant of the crown 
under the old regime. He served the emperor Napoleon 
with the same fidelity. His only son, my beloved 
brother, fell five years ago, here — on this field of 
Marengo. He fought and died for his emperor, and for 
France.” She wept silently. Soon she concluded as she 
addressed Josephine, imploringly — “Your Majesty will 
not refuse to receive my petition.” 

The empress was affected, all were impressed, and 
the review for the time was forgotten. 

Josephine now spoke with emotion — “Your father has 
an able advocate, Mademoiselle. We are deeply touched 
with your suffering. Your empress knows the meaning 
of imprisonment, suffering and anguish of mind; for was 
not slie imprisoned, cited to appear before the Revolu- 
tionary tribunal in the darkest days of France, and did 
not she escape the terrible guillotine as if by a miracle. 
We forgive your outspoken remarks upon our minister, 
Fouche, and let us hear your full petition; for you 
spoke of two prisoners.” She turned to Baron Dupont — 
“You see, Baron; your petitioner has gained our ear 
and she bids fair to gain our sympathy. ’ ’ 

“She is a noble girl, your Majesty. Already inter- 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


217 


ested in her before she spoke, I am doubly so now that 
she has voiced my feelings so nearly in the matter of 
the minister, Fouche.” 

‘ ‘ She spoke truly, ’ 1 said the courageous Montaubun. 

‘ ‘ And she has done a good turn for France, ’ ’ added 
Colonel Fleury. 

“Yes,” supported Colonel Delorme — “for the 
emperor will hear of it, and he forgets nothing that 
should be remembered.” 

‘ 1 Down with Fouche ! ” all cried. It was no secret that 
he was universally disliked. As a matter of fact all 
high-minded men wandered why Napoleon had any 
dealings with such as Fouche. 

“Ladies! Gentlemen!” cried Josephine in reproval — 
“You know how the emperor regards politics in his 
Court. ’ ’ 

Everyone laughed, for they all knew if the emperor 
had been present the words spoken would have remained 
unsaid, for fear of his displeasure. Napoleon, like many 
another man, could not endure the slightest whisper of 
criticism. 

“Baron Dupont” — the empress now said — “May we 
rightly espouse the cause of Mademoiselle de Marsay and 
urge the emperor to release her father — do you know 
sufficient of the matter to advise us?” 

“I do know, your Majesty. Louis de Marsay is inno- 
cent of wrongdoing. I have several times tried to 
broach the matter to the emperor. Where I have failed, 
your Majesty will succeed — for have you not the art 
of winning all hearts, and have you not again and again, 
in righteous cause, made the iron will of our great em- 
peror to bend like supple steel under the annealing of 
your tender pleadings?” 

“Well, then, Mademoiselle,” said Josephine, as she 


218 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


smiled on Delphine, “as our outspoken chancellor prom- 
ises success, we will espouse your cause. ’ ’ 

Delphine pressed forward and reverently kissed the 
hand of the empress. 

Caterina now seized Delphine ’s disengaged hand and 
whispered, “Count Charney, Mademoiselle.” 

“What is that your companion says. Mademoiselle V 9 
enquired Josephine. 

“She reminds me that only one-half of our petition 
has been made, your Majesty; and I greatly fear I pre- 
sume upon your time and condescension.” Delphine now 
showed considerable embarrassment. 

“Fear nothing, Mademoiselle! We are interested in 
your story. But you may rest awhile, and your com- 
panion shall tell us of the other prisoner. ’ ’ The empress 
now turned to Caterina. “For whom do you intercede, 
Madame Caterina?” 

“For a noble prisoner in Fenestrelle, your Majesty.” 

“What is his name, and why is he imprisoned?” 

“Your Majesty, his name is Count Charney, and I do 
not know the cause of his imprisonment.” 

Josephine turned to Delphine. “Perhaps you can tell 
us, Mademoiselle. Is he innocent also?” 

“No, your Majesty; for I have heard him say he 
deserved his fate.” 

“Here are two surprises,” interjected Montaubun. 

“A prisoner who is really innocent,” commented 
Fleury. 

“And one who owns he is justly imprisoned,” con- 
cluded Delorme. 

“He has doubtless thrown himself on the emperor’s 
clemency,” said Josephine, “and he has himself written 
a petition for his release.” 

“Not so— your Majesty. But here is his petition — 
will you please read it?” 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


219 


Josephine took the letter and opened it. Uncon- 
sciously she read it aloud, so interested was she. “ ‘To his 
Majesty, Napoleon Bonaparte, Emperor of France and 
King of Italy. A prisoner in Fenestrelle whose lot is 
made bearable by a plant that has sprung up by chance in 
the prison-yard, humbly presents this petition to your 
Majesty, praying that the flag-stones near the plant may 
be removed, as the companion of his lonely hours is 
withering and dying. (Signed) Charles Yeramont, 
Count de Charney.’ ” 

All had listened with great attention. 

General Montaubun now spoke — “Did I not say the 
story would be romantic! Depend upon it there is yet 
more to come. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Do you know this Count Charney ; Baron Dupont ? ’ ’ 
— asked the empress — “You who know all the names of 
France ? ’ ’ 

“I knew him w T ell in former days, your Majesty.” 

“What is his offense?” 

“He is a man of noble family and high character — a 
patriot — a lover of his country, with no sordid aim or 
ambition, and who was opposed to personal rule in 
France. The emperor confined him in Fenestrelle when 
I was Police Intendant at Paris.” 

“I remember the incident,” commented Montaubun. 

“The police received a letter from one of his enemies 
that led to his arrest,” explained Fleury. 

“The letter was from a friend,” Delorme corrected, 
while every one laughed at the contradiction. 

“Come!” said Montaubun; “one of you is wrong. I 
appeal to Baron Dupont. “Baron,” he said, as he 
turned to ask the question — “enemy or friend?” 

“Friend ?” — the Baron replied — “for some of his asso- 
ciates planned to have him assassinated, and the letter 


220 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


led to Charney ’s timely arrest. So timely that had our 
men arrived on the spot one minute later — nay, ten sec- 
onds later — it would have been too late. ’ ’ 

“A close call,” cried Delorme, as all shuddered invol- 
untarily. 

“And the friend who, of course, had no grudge to 
serve — w hat became of him?” asked Montaubun rather 
cynically. 

“That friend refused liberty at my hands. He de- 
manded imprisonment for as long a time as his friend 
Charney should be confined, and, when we refused him, 
he went to this very Fenestrelle and importuned the 
governor so much, and demanded admittance so reg- 
ularly every day, that at last they took him in and con- 
fined him to get rid of him.” 

‘ ‘ He was insane then, was he ? ” Montaubun asked. 

Baron Dupont walked up to Montaubun and placed 
his hand impressively on his shoulder — “As sane as you 
or I, General. Come, you are too good a man to be a 
pessimist — this should give you renewed faith in human 
nature. ’ ’ 

“What a story is here !” said Josephine, much affected. 
“What nobility of heart — the devotion of these girls is 
explained. ’ ’ Here a thought occurred to the empress, for 
she paused a moment. Soon she resumed : “ As the pris- 
oner Charney petitions only for the life of his plant, and 
cares not for his liberty — seeing that he does not ask 
for it — he must be old, weak and tired of life. Am I 
right, Mademoiselle?” she asked, as she turned to Del- 
phine. 

With some embarrassment Delphine answered — ‘ ‘ He is 
not so very old, your Majesty.” 

“He is young and vigorous, your Majesty,” said 
Caterina.” 


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223 


‘‘Oh! Pie is young, is he?” commented the empress, 
and then addressing Delphine in raillery, she went on, 
“Perhaps he is handsome? Come, confess the truth 
Mademoiselle. ’ ’ 

Delphine was now much embarrassed, and turning to 
Caterina, she entreated, “Oh! Please answer her 
Majesty.” 

“Oh! your Majesty he is strikingly handsome!” ex- 
claimed Caterina with admiration in her voice — “there 
are none here — ” She looked around and then realized 
the slip she had made. 

“ Sh ! Caterina ! ’ ’ hastily admonished Delphine. 

Every one laughed heartily, and the ladies of the 
Court indulged in pleasantries at the expense of the 
men. 

The empress laughed gaily. “We have not yet heard 
all the story, it seems — ” and she looked meaningly at 
Delphine. 

Caterina now tried to make amends for her blunder. 
“T did not mean to be so rude and outspoken, your 
Majesty. ’ ’ 

“Make no apology, my child, and continue your 
story.” 

“You have not shown your flower to the empress. 
Mademoiselle Delphine!” said Caterina. 

The empress smiled pleasantly on those around her 
as she remarked, “You see there is more to come, there 
is a flower. Of what flower do you speak, Madame 
Caterina ? ’ ’ 

“Count Charney’s plant had one beautiful bloom, 
your Majesty, and this bloom that he loved so well he 
plucked with his own hand and sent it to Mademoiselle 
de Marsay.” 

“Oh! Oh!” exclaimed Josephine, “now we under- 


222 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


stand. The emperor must certainly hear this story. We 
are fond of plants and flowers — ” she observed to Del 
phine — “Where is this bloom?” Our study of botany 
may help us to tell you the name of the plant. 

Delphine now put her hand in her bosom to draw out 
the precious bloom. “I have it here, your Majesty,” she 
replied, while all around exchanged nods and smiles as 
the romantic little story unfolded. 

The empress took the folded card and examined the 
pressed flower that lay within. She gave an exclama- 
tion of delight. “Is it possible?” she cried, — “the flower 
I have sought for years — ‘Rarefleur Magnifique ’ — 
sprung up by chance in a prison yard; while our gar- 
deners have sought for it in every likely part of the coun- 
try. Mademoiselle, we would keep your flower awhile.” 
Here she noticed Delphine ’s embarrassment and added, 
“not to keep it long, my child — but to show it to the 
emperor. We know you value it — Nay, do not deny! 
We understand — it shall be preserved and returned to 
you ere long.” 

Turning now to Baron Dupont, Josephine continued, 
— “Baron Dupont, when the review is over, give orders 
for an experienced gardener to start for Fenestrelle to- 
night. Let him go with all possible speed. We shall also 
require a courier to take our commands to the governor 
of the fortress. The plant must be saved, and then per- 
chance we may get a cutting for our gardens at Malmai 
son. ’ ’ 

“How are the young ladies to return to Fenestrelle, 
your Majesty?” enquired the considerate Baron. 

“Order a carriage and relays for Sunday morning, 
and detach an escort of our guards. Tonight we shall 
present the petitioners to the emperor, so that he may 
hear their story, and tomorrow they may rest to gain 
strength for their return.” 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


223 


“Oli! Help !” cried Caterina, “I dare not speak to the 
emperor,” and the frightened and fainting girl was 
again caught in the arms of the young aide-de-camp. 

“Poor girl!” remarked Montaubun, as he perceived 
she was reviving under the care she received. “She has 
heard some terrible story about the emperor. ’ ’ 

44 Yes ; ” added the empress as she laughed, 4 4 the 4 Ogra 
of Corsica!’ Little do they know of the emperor’s great 
goodness of heart. And this same emperor, who is asked 
for a thousand things a day, will give a sigh of relief 
when he hears this simple tale of devotion, and a tear 
of gratitude will spring to his eye for joy that all 
humanity is not base and sordid. It is then we appeal to 
his kind heart to grant relief to the suffering and unfor- 
tunate. ’ ’ 

4 4 Long live our noble empress!” came the loyal cry; 
for Josephine was beloved of all. 

44 And now, Mademoiselle,” said the kind-hearted 
Josephine, 4 4 and you Madame Caterina — jmur empress 
has a pleasing duty to perform. Draw near! Your 
devotion and bravery show you to be true daughters of 
our country. Mademoiselle, wear this as our gift!” and 
here she unfastened the locket and chain suspended from 
her own neck and clasped it around the shapely throat 
of Delphine. She took the young girl in her arms and 
kissed her. “You will find the emperor’s portrait, and 
ours, suspended from this chain,” she added, as she 
touched the locket. 4 4 May future generations remember 
this day as one of the happiest in our life — the day we 
made this little gift — the day we felt so proud of the 
daughters of France.” 

4 4 And you, Madame Caterina, ’ ’ said the noble Joseph- 
ine as she took little Caterina ’s hand and clasped 
her own bracelet on the wrist of the trembling young 


224 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


girl, — “wear this as the gift of your empress. We are 
pleased with your devotion. Tell your husband to love 
and cherish you with all his heart ; and be you a devoted 
helper to him, my child.” She took the little Caterina 
in her arms and kissed her. 

Delphine and Caterina were soon surrounded, and 
they won their way to all hearts by the modest manner 
in which they received the congratulations that were 
show T ered on them. 

General Montaubun now approached the empress; 
“The review is nearly over, your Majesty,” he re- 
marked. * ‘ The troops are returning for the final evolu- 
tion. ’ 9 The general here addressed his aide , — ‘ ‘ Colonel 
Fleury,” he said, “will you order the carriages?” 

The empress now turned to Delphine and Caterina — 
“And now, my children, come and see your emperor 
go by — noblest of men- — bravest of the brave.” Josephine 
seated herself on the throne, and the officers and ladies 
placed themselves in favorable positions for witnessing 
the termination of the review. 

Caterina and Delphine were somewhat hidden, and 
it was evident they could not hope to see much from 
where they stood. 

The empress noticed this, and graciously motioned 
to them to come nearer the eminence on which she was 
placed. 

Delphine and Caterina hung back, however; but Gen- 
eral Montaubun, on a signal from the empress, had 
approached and received instructions, for he called his 
aides, Fleury and Delorme, and together they helped 
the girls to the first step of the throne. 

The approaching troops were now plainly seen, and 
cries of “Vive! Vive! Vive I’empereur !” could be heard 
from the assembled multitudes near the throne. The tu- 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


225 


mult increased, and bodies of cavalry dashed along. They 
were greeted with cheers; and hands, hats and handker- 
chiefs were waved in the air as they passed. 

Delphine and Caterina stood on tiptoe, holding to each 
other, as they gazed eagerly at all that was going on. 

Again the kind-hearted empress motioned them to 
come up higher, for she wanted them to see the emperor 
in all his glory. 

The aides again gave assistance, and soon the reluctant 
Delphine and the timid little Caterina found themselves 
on the top step of the dais, with Delorme and Fleury by 
their side to point out the emperor and his staff as they 
drew near. 

The greatest excitement now prevailed all around, for 
the immense body of troops was on the open plain, near 
at hand, and they advanced with bands playing and 
colors flying. 

The infantry eagerly pressed forward to take up its 
final station, the straining horses rapidly drew the 
rumbling artillery into position, and the dashing cavalry 
proudly circled around the flanks in beautiful order. It 
was an inspiring spectacle, and the enthusiastic cheering 
of the spectators grew louder and louder as the troops 
neared the Alessandria main road by which the emperor 
was soon to pass from the field of review. 

The troops themselves now swelled the uproar, for the 
massed bands had just played the emperor’s favorite 
piece, ‘Partant pour la Syrie,’ and it was known this 
was his farewell, for the present, as affairs of state called 
him back to Paris. Napoleon and his generals now 
passed along the lines in final review. The enthusiasm 
of the soldiers was spontaneous and unbounded. 
Tumultuous cheering came in advancing waves, hats 
were raised high in the air on muskets, and regiment 


226 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


vied with regiment in the ardor and devotion of their 
loyal plaudits. Tears of love and devotion sprang to 
the eyes of veteran and young soldier alike as they 
leaned forward and gazed on the well-known features of 
their great leader. And now the day was almost over, 
and the imperial guard approached the Alessandria road 
and took the place of honor reserved for them; for they 
were to he the last in the line of review as Napoleon 
passed off the field of Marengo. 

The throne constructed for the empress Josephine had 
been placed so well that it afforded a complete view of 
the main road; and it was now apparent that as the 
emperor passed along, he would be plainly seen. The 
officers and ladies of Josephine’s retinue, and the guests 
of the empress now faced in the direction of the Ales- 
sandria road, for the review was nearly over and all 
were anxious to have a favorable position for the last 
and most important incident of the day. The imperial 
guard was massed in front of the immense concourse 
of people now drawn up by the side of the main road, 
and the unbounded enthusiasm and tumultuous cheer- 
ing as the emperor passed beneath their very eyes was 
deeply affecting to him, for again and again he acknow- 
ledged it with moist eyes, while each inclination of his 
noble head only served to swell the tremendous acclaim 
that now rang as every voice joined in one last 
triumphant roar. 

Napoleon now passed on to the main road. He was 
mounted on his favorite Arabian charger. The day’s 
work over, he became absorbed in thought; for his head 
was inclined well forward, and his right hand was in- 
serted in the lapel of his coat — the attitude that was 
habitual w r ith him when not actively engaged. 

The emperor’s generals, brave men of brilliant talents, 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


227 


respected his reverie, for they fell back a few paces be- 
hind him. 

Just as all drew near the throne of the empress, 
Napoleon awoke from his reverie and looked toward his 
noble consort. At that moment a great cry of enthusiasm 
was heard all along the road over which the emperor and 
his staff had passed, for the imperial guard, anxious to 
take one last, fond look at their beloved leader, now 
dashed along, at a tremendous pace, to overtake him. 
Josephine stood erect and proud, with tears of joy in her 
eyes as she waved a loving salute to Napoleon. 

The ladies of Josephine’s party waved their handker- 
chiefs, the officers saluted with fervor and the guests of 
honor bow T ed with profound respect and admiration. 
Delphine and Caterina took courage in the general ex- 
citement and tremblingly fluttered their handkerchiefs. 
The emperor rose in his saddle to fittingly respond to this 
general salute, and then, joined by his generals and fol- 
lowed by the imperial guard, he put spur to his horse 
and was soon out of sight. 

Josephine left the throne, and all prepared to leave the 
field in the carriages that were now drawn up without 
the enclosure. 

“Come,” said the noble empress, as she addressed Del- 
phine and Caterina, “you shall meet your emperor. With 
all the cares of state and the weight of his own projects 
— he yet has time to speak words of approbation for 
deeds of love and devotion. Join all of you” — and here 
Josephine looked around her — “in the prayer of your 
empress. May this joyful day be but the foretaste of 
our continued happiness as a nation — may the emper- 
or’s last war be his last — may he turn his genius to the 
arts of peace, and may love ever sway his great heart 


228 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


for that which is right” She looked above 

with a tear in her eye — “ Ladies! Gentlemen! .... 
follow us.” 


CHAPTER XVI 


A few days after the review at Marengo, Count 
Charney was again seated in the courtyard 
in front of his cell. He was gazing disconso- 
lately at his dying plant. Other than 
Ludovic, he had seen no one for days, as all his 
privileges had been withdrawn by the angry governor 
since the day on which he had been visited by Charles, 
Marie and Renardeau. He had attempted to converse 
with de Marsay by calling up to the tower, but although 
he had tried often during the past few days, he had 
obtained no response. 

It was morning, and Ludovic now entered to attend to 
some of his daily duties. Although he saw Charney 
sitting in his accustomed place, he made no effort to 
greet him as usual, but instead affected to be looking 
elsewhere. 

‘‘You do not speak to-day, Ludovic — What have I 
done to you ? ’ * 

“Done! Nothing at all!” the jailer replied gruffly. 
“Well, then; save my plant!” and Charney seized 
Ludovic ’s hand. “The governor need not know about 
it. Bring me some earth in a box. We will transplant 
it — the stones can be removed in a minute and put right 
back.” 

Ludovic roughly withdrew his hand from the Count’s 
grasp as he exclaimed, “Don’t touch me. Deuce take 
your plant, Count Charney, it causes nothing but mis- 
chief. You are going to be ill again — I can see that 
plainly. You will have to let it die.” 

Charney gazed gloomily at the plant. “Tell me one 
thing, good Ludovic.” 


229 


230 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


“Yes; if it is not about that troublesome plant/ ’ 

“Well, then; where is the tower-prisoner, de Mar- 
say?” 

“He’ll never see his daughter again — he is in one of 
the dungeons, by order of the governor. They’ve found 
out you have written to the emperor; and as Mademoi- 
selle de Marsay is supposed to have carried your letter, 
she is not allowed inside the fortress any more. ’ ’ 

Charney was amazed — “Mademoiselle de Marsay car 
ried my letter to the emperor!” he repeated. “I did 
not know — I did not think. How foolish of me — how 
selfish — to bring trouble on this unhappy man by my 
unthinking act — how can I repair this mischief?” 

“Ludovic shrugged his shoulders and left without 
making a reply. 

“Oh; Delphine!” Charney earnestly cried with 
clasped hands — “If only the prison gates would open 
to admit you here, once more, how willingly would I 
give the half of my life in purchase.” 

He was rudely disturbed, for Governor St. Remy now 
entered abruptly. ‘ ‘ Count Charney, ’ ’ he said, ‘ ‘ I waste 
no time in ceremony. For the last time I ask, will 
you consent to marriage with my sister, and thus repair 
the wrong you have done ?” 

“Let me ask one question, Governor St. Remy; does 
your sister still desire this marriage?” 

‘ ‘ She does — she talks of nothing else. ’ ’ 

“Then, Governor St. Remy, hear my reply — both of 
you have lost your senses — I wish to hear no more of 
your absurd proposal.” 

“Absurd, is it?” The governor got in a great passion. 
“We shall see. Prepare to bear the consequences of your 
refusal. But first hear a last appeal. Ho you know I 
have sufficient influence to obtain not only your pardon 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


231 


and release, but also the restoration of your property — ” 
he paused and then corrected — or rather I should say of 
half your property. Liberty, a fortune, marriage with 
a woman of position, and only a slight disparity in your 
ages! Surely all this is worth considering. Now look 
at the reverse side — you will live and die in prison; poor, 
wretched, miserable and friendless — it is you who are 
mad, if you refuse. ” 

“I have said my last word on your insane proposal. ” 

“Very well then, sir — it is war, is it? We shall soon 
see who draws first blood/’ He blew his whistle shrilly, 
and then went on — “Change of air, a few weeks in a 
dungeon may bring you to your senses. 

Ludovic now entered and awaited the governor’s com- 
mands. 

“Bring here an officer and two guards!” commanded 
St. Remy, and Ludovic left to do his bidding. 

“Before you go to your new quarters, I have a duty 
to perform;” the governor now said. “Have you any 
complaint to make concerning your treatment here?” 

“It is useless to complain,” replied Charney. 

“You know that in your illness,” the governor con- 
tinued, “every attention was paid you, and you were 
allowed most unusual privileges.” 

Charney bowed politely in acquiescence. 

“However, you have infringed the rules of 
the fortress,” the governor sternly remarked, “you have 
injured me in the opinion of the Governor of Piedmont. 
He doubts my vigilance, seeing that you have succeeded 
in sending a petition to the emperor.” 

‘ ‘ He has received it, then ? ’ ’ 

“Yes, sir!” the governor coldly replied. 

“What does he say?” 

“What does he say?” repeated St. Remy — “That for 


232 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


transgressing orders you are to be placed in solitary 
confinement for a month, and that bread and water is 
to be yonr fare.” 

Charney was shocked at this serious turn, and he ex- 
claimed, as a ray of hope lightened the gloom, “But the 
emperor — what says his Majesty?” 

“The emperor!” and here St. Remy laughed outright 
— “The emperor does not concern himself with trifles.” 

Charney ’s head now bowed under this cruel blow. 

“But this is not all!” the governor continued. “It is 
only natural to suppose you have sent out other com- 
munications. Have you written to any one besides his 
Majesty, the emperor?” 

Charney was too overcome to vouchsafe any reply. 

“Well,” resumed St. Remy, “we shall find out for 
ourselves. Before we commence our examination of 
your cell and personal effects, have you anything to 
say ? It may help to mitigate your further punishment . ’ ' 

An officer and two guards now approached with Ludo- 
vic following, but Charney preserved silence — he knew 
it was useless to reply to this man. 

“Do your duty!” ordered the governor as he pointed 
to Charney ’s cell. 

Under the direction of their officer, the men entered 
the cell and carried out its whole contents into the court- 
yard for examination. Charney ’s cot and table, the 
elbow-chair and stool, the rough chest of linen and the 
little cupboard having on top of it the Count’s dressing- 
case, were all scattered about the yard. St. Remy 
pointed to Chaim ey, and the men stepped up and ex- 
amined his clothing and the linings of his coat and vest. 
While this was going on the governor stepped into the 
cell to see if anything had been overlooked. He found 
the cell bare and rejoined the men in the yard. The 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


233 


mattress was ripped and examined inch-by-inch. The 
table and chairs were sounded and turned upside down, 
and a careful test was made to see if the spindles or legs 
were loose. The linen chest was next emptied and its 
contents scattered about, and the cupboard was care- 
fully explored for concealed articles. So far, nothing 
had been found, and there only remained the dressing- 
case, which was found to be locked. 

“Your key, sir;” asked the governor of Charney, or 
do you prefer that we dash it open?” 

Charney took the key from his neck and dropped it 
in front of him, while he turned his back on the scene. 

The officer picked up the key, opened the case and 
examined its contents. He motioned to the governor, 
who quickly stood at his side and looked in. 

“Found!” cried St. Remy in great delight, “we 
have got them!” 

In the bottom of the case reposed Charney *s cambric 
handkerchiefs on which he had made the sketches of 
his beloved plant. The officer opened them, one by 
one, and held them up to view. 

As Charney saw his precious records seized, he 
started out of the seat into which he had sunk, with 
hands extended as if to speak. He fell back, power- 
less, into his chair; and the governor, noticing his 
emotion, was the more convinced of the value of his 
prize. 

St. Remy now carefully examined the handkerchiefs. 
“Here is some daring plot,” he exclaimed, “nipped in 
the bud, owing to our vigilance. It will take a wise 
head to decipher this cryptic communication; but it 
can be done, for Fouche has men who can unravel 
secret writing in any form. A special messenger must 
set out instantly to the Governor of Piedmont, with my 


234 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


request to examine and forward to Fouche immediately. 
The emperor will reward me for this — it should mean 
a Baronage, at the very least.” 

The quills and the scent bottle containing the soot 
ink were also seized, and these with the handkerchiefs 
were given to the officer of the guard with instructions 
from the governor to seek out his secretary, and have 
him draw up the necessary report. 

“Tell him to have the messenger in waiting, and you 
can return here to me as soon as possible,” added St. 
Remy. As the governor turned he noticed the plant, 
surrounded by sticks and twine to protect it. “What 
is this, Ludovic?” he asked angrily. “Is this the way 
you watch your prisoners?” 

“That, sir; is the plant I told you about, — ” replied 
Ludovic, as he stepped forward and saluted. “It is 
good for gout and rheumatism.” 

“Nonsense!” said the governor — “Don’t talk such 
trash to me. If these prisoners had their way they 
would turn the prison into a garden or menagerie. 
Tear it up, and sweep it all away!” 

Ludovic looked at the plant, at Charney, and then 
at the governor, as he muttered some words of excuse. 

“Hold your tongue!” commanded St. Remy — “and 
do as I order.” 

Ludovic took off his cap and coat, rolled up his 
sleeves and rubbed his hands with great deliberation, 
for he was unwilling to carry out the heartless order. 
He proceeded to break away the pieces of twine, and 
slowly, and after much apparent effort, he pulled up the 
pieces of stick, one by one, and broke them over his 
knee. In this way he consumed considerable time. He 
next proceeded to scatter the pieces about the yard. 
While appearing to be very rough, he was really taking 
care not to injure the plant in any way. 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


235 


Charney watched breathlessly as he stood motionless 
to one side. As the last stick left the ground he wiped 
away a tear from his eye. 

The kind-hearted jailer noticed it, for he coughed 
savagely to hide his feelings. 

“Take away this bench !” said St. Remy to the loiter- 
ing jailer. 

The bench appeared to be permanently fastened to 
the pavement, for Ludovic took much time to get it 
loose. Approaching the plant, Ludovic looked at it 
intently and then took courage to address the governor, 
risking his anger, for he turned to him and said, “Why 
kill it ? . . . . it is dying ! ’ ’ 

The governor motioned for the plant to be destroyed. 

Charney now sprang boldly in front of his plant. 
His action was so unexpected that both Ludovic and 
the governor recoiled. “Let no profane hand touch 
it,” he cried, “it is nearly dead!” then he added sav- 
agely and in a fury, “I will destroy it myself !” and he 
turned to carry his words into action. Just then the 
officer returned from his visit to the secretary. The 
governor quickly motioned towards Charney, and in 
a moment the guards seized him — one at each arm — 
and he was held powerless. 

St. Remy smiled. “You shall not have that satis- 
faction; but you may see me do it, after which — ” here 
he addressed the officer — “You may remove the 
prisoner to the dungeon.” The governor drew his 
sword and raised it in the air to cut down the doomed 
plant. He paused a moment as he looked at Charney 
to enjoy his despair — the pause was fatal to his plan, 
for Yoyarde, the imperial courier, now entered in great 
haste. St. Remy turned and sheathed his sword as he 
saw who had entered, and with a smiling expression, 


236 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


in place of his recent look of rage, he welcomed the 
courier of the emperor. 

“Why, Monsieur Yoyarde; I did not expect to see you 
here today,” and he shook hands with him. 

“Possibly not — but here I am.” Voyarde was an in 
telligent man and he had taken in the whole scene before 
him, with one glance, as he first entered. ‘ ‘ Why, Gover- 
nor St. Remy, what is the meaning of this confusion, and 
what has happened that I saw you with drawn sword 
as I entered?” 

“We have a troublesome prisoner — we are clearing 
out his cell, and we were about to discipline him.” 

“What! with your sword!” said Yoyarde; and St. 
Remy looked confused. 

M. Voyarde looked at him keenly and then resumed. 
“But before you speak further, Governor St. Remy, 
read these despatches I bring you, for they concern this 
gentleman — unless I am mistaken — ” and here he 
pointed and bowed to Charney who looked up in sur- 
prise. 

The governor took the despatches, and, as he read, the 
expression of his countenance underwent a great change. 

Yoyarde spoke a few words to the officer of the guards, 
and he in turn whispered to his men. Charney was now 
released, and as the soldiers left him free he 
acknowledged Voyarde ’s interposition with a courteous 
inclination of his head. 

St. Remy now dismissed the guard and approached 
Charney with an air of courtesy, in direct contrast with 
his previous demeanor. “Listen, my dear Count 
Charney,” he said in his most affable manner, and he 
proceeded to read from the letter he held in his hand — 
“His Majesty, the Emperor-King, commands you to 
make known his consent to the petition of Monsieur 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


237 


Charney relative to the plant which grows in the court- 
yard of Fenestrelle. The stones that incommode it are to 
be removed. You will please see that this order is 
executed, and it is our wish that you communicate with 
the prisoner on the subject.” 

“Long live the emperor !” cried Ludovic as he threw 
his cap up in the air. 

St. Remy eyed him sternly. 

“Long live the emperor !” repeated Charney with 
considerable emotion. 

“There is a postscript from the empress, ” Yoyarde 
now said. 

St. Remy looked at the letter again and continued his 
reading. “We recommend Monsieur de Charney to your 
kind offices. We direct that you do all you can to ren- 
der the position of the prisoner as little painful as pos- 
sible. ’ ’ 

This postscript was signed by the good Josephine. 

“Long live the empress!” cried the delighted Ludovic 
— again throwing his cap up in the air. 

“Oh! let me read that postscript, Governor St. Remy 
— ” requested Count Charney, with gratitude in his 
heart. 

“Certainly, my dear Count Charney,” and he passed 
the letter into Charney ’s hands. 

Charney read the postscript and kissed the signature 
for joy. Then he gazed at it motionless, as in a dream 
— his mind far away. 

“Governor St. Remy;” observed Yoyarde, “do not 
forget that the empress takes a deep interest in Count 
Charney. ’ ’ 

Charney turned as he heard these words, and Yoyarde 
crossed over to address him. “Her majesty is sending 
a gardener to Fenestrelle. I passed him on the road. He 


238 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


comes to care for your plant, Count, and he is so skilled 
in his art that he can nurse it back to life. No one is 
to touch the plant until he has seen it.” 

“I am grateful to our good empress for her compas- 
isonate interest. I wish it were possible to thank her. ’ ’ 

‘'Do not fear — I will bear your thanks. I go direct 
from here to make my report to her gracious Majesty.” 

“And Yoyarde;” interposed the governor, “do not 
forget to report — ahem ! ” he said as he cleared his throat 
— “I am as zealous as ever in the imperial service.” 

“Don’t be too zealous, Governor St. Remy. What a 
fortunate thing for you I arrived when I did. A mo- 
ment later — a stroke of your sword — the plant destroyed ; 
you would have been in a bad position, for the empress 
says the plant must live — so take warning. ’ ’ He laughed 
his good-bye and went. 

St. Remy watched him going. His plans were now 
upset. It was a bitter dose for him to swallow. But it 
was as much as his position was worth to go counter to 
the wishes of the empress. So after a while he addressed 
the jailer — “Ludovic,” he said, “replace these things 
for the present. ’ ’ He now turned to the Count as Ludovic 
was busy replacing the things in the cell, “Count 
Charney, your cell shall be refurnished more comfort- 
ably this afternoon. I trust you will pardon my zeal in 
the emperor’s service — perhaps I was hasty. I will send 
my sister to see what you need in the way of luxuries.” 

“Do nothing of the sort,” replied Charney. “I need 
no luxuries — hence Mademoiselle St. Remy’s visit will be 
superfluous. ’ ’ 

“lam only holding out the olive-branch, Count. ’ ’ 

“Consider it received — and now let matters rest as 
they are, Governor St. Remy!” Charney bowed as he 
concluded. 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


239 


The governor now left, first going into the cell to speak 
to Ludovic who was busy replacing the furniture. 

Ludovic now joined Charney. “The governor in- 
vites you to dine with him tonight, Count.’ ’ 

“Thank the governor and say I am not hungry.” 

“What! are you going to fast now?” 

“No, good Ludovic; you can bring my supper as 
usual.” 

“Your fortune has changed, Count Charney. I was 
wrong about the plant, after all, for it is bringing you 
good luck. The governor says you are to have writing 
material and books, and that you can come and go 
about the fortress as you like.” 

“He is very kind,” commented Charney; while 
Ludovic pulled his moustache and made a wry face. 

A soldier now entered carrying a pile of books which 
he placed on the seat. He saluted the Count respect- 
fully and left. 

Ludovic noticed a card on top. He picked it up and 
read aloud, “The Empress Josephine sends these works 
on botany in order that Monsieur de Charney may find 
recreation in reading them.” 

“What; am I to read all these?” 

“So it seems, Count.” 

“Ludovic,” said Charney, after a pause, “You have 
a kind heart. You saved my plant, for while pretend- 
ing to be eager to destroy it, you lingered over each 
act as long as you could. I am grateful. Do not forget 
that I shall always remember you with gratitude.” 

“That was nothing, Count; nothing. I am going now 
to get material ready for the gardener, for he may 
arrive any minute.” 

“Hasten, then; good Ludovic, for the plant is nearly 
gone.” 


240 


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As Ludovic disappeared along the causeway, Charney 
sat on his bench to examine the books that had been 
so kindly sent by the gracious Josephine. He turned 
over some of the leaves — his mind far away. As he 
opened one of the books to examine its title-page, a 
note fell out on the floor. He stooped and picked it 
up and then quickly opened and read it aloud in his 
excitement. “Hope, and tell your neighbor to hope — 
your friends are at work.” It was from Delphine! 
He sprang to his feet, upsetting the books on the pave- 
ment as he did so. Then pacing to and fro he kissed 
the letter repeatedly, as he murmured — “Delphine! 
Delphine !” 


CHAPTER XVII 


P OOR girl,” thought Charney, as he sat down 
on his bench to read Delphine’s note for the 
twentieth time. “She dare not name her 
father, and she is unaware that we no longer 
meet. How happy he would be to read this letter.” 

At the sound of approaching footsteps he put the note 
in his pocket, and turning to see who came, was aston- 
ished to behold de Marsay coming along the causeway in 
company with Ludovic. 

“I bring you a friend, Count Charney,” said the jailer. 
De Marsay sprang forward to greet Charney — “We 
meet again, dear friend,” he said — “need I say with 
what joy?” 

“My friend!” exclaimed Charney as he warmly 
grasped de Marsay ’s hand; “sit down here,” and to- 
gether they sat on the bench. 

“The governor has moved Monsieur de Marsay back 
to the tower, so as to be near you. He is to have liberty, 
like you, to come and go about the fortress as he pleases 
— ” saying which, Ludovic left. 

Charney addressed de Marsay — “What has brought 
about all this happy change?” 

‘ ‘ My daughter, undoubtedly — every happiness in life I 
derive through her.” 

“Read this, Monsieur de Marsay,” said Charney, as 
he pressed Delphine’s note into the hands of the old 
prisoner. 

“It is her writing,” eagerly commented de Marsay 
as he read. * ‘ She is working for my release. J ’ 

Charney stretched out his hand to take back his prized 


241 


242 


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letter, but lie noticed de Marsay was kissing it, with 
tears in his eyes. He would have given anything in 
exchange for it, and he felt it was his. But he was 
learning at last to show consideration for the feelings of 
others, and after a brief mental struggle he relinquished 
the letter and allowed the gratified father to retain it. 

“Ah! Count, why did you not let me petition for your 
release ? ’ ’ 

“My pride has ever stood in my way and now I regret 
it, for you will leave here before long, I know; and the 
two friends I have learned to love will pass out into the 
world of liberty — leaving me alone indeed !” 

“Be cheerful, my friend, what says my daughter in 
her note” — and here he eagerly drew it from his bosom 
— ‘ ‘ Hope ! J ’■ — and he placed his hand on Charney ’s arm — 
“and tell your neighbor to hope.” 

“She may feel hopeful,” commented Charney; “but 
I do not. Napoleon — the emperor, will never forget the 
plan I entertained of overthrowing his authority.” 

Here Ludovic entered bearing a letter. He presented 
it to the tower-prisoner as he said, “Monsieur de Mar- 
say, this letter arrived for you yesterday — the governor 
is sorry he overlooked it.” 

De Marsay rose with trembling haste to receive the 
letter, and after Ludovic had gone he eagerly opened it. 
“From my daughter,” he cried with joy, “from Del- 
phine!” 

He devoured the letter while Charney leaned forward 
and looked in his face. Listen, Count Charney, you shall 
be the first to share my joy,” and he read the letter 
aloud. ‘Is it not a happiness that they permit us to 
correspond? Kiss this letter a thousand times, for I 
have done so, and thus transmit my kisses to you. Will 
it not be delightful to exchange our thoughts? I am to 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


243 


see you again. Oh! pause here, my father, pause and 
bless Baron Dupont to whom we owe so much. Father, 
I come to see you soon, in a day or two ; and Oh ! pray 
for fortitude to bear the good news — I come to lead you 
to your home — to take you from captivity.’’ 

Before a single word of comment could be exchanged 
over this tender letter from the good and dutiful Del- 
phine, a quick step drew near and in a moment a voice 
was heard that caused both prisoners to jump to their 
feet for joy. They turned — it was Delphine ! 

“Oh! Father!” she exclaimed, as they tenderly em- 
braced, while tears of joy flowed freely — “Count 
Charney!” She placed her hand in Charney’s, and he 
held it stiffly ; being overcome by her sudden appearance. 
At last he noticed her father was not looking and he sud- 
denly covered her hand with kisses. 

“News ! News ! ’ ’ cried Delphine — flourishing a letter in 
the air — ‘ ‘ the best of news. A pardon ! ’ ’ She laughed 
as she threw herself in her father’s arms. 

“A pardon!” cried de Marsay, beside himself for joy. 

“A pardon!” exclaimed Charney as he bent eagerly 
forward ; hoping and fearing. 

‘ ‘ For you, my father ! ’ ’ 

Charney fell back in despair. 

“And Count Charney, my daughter, what of him?” 

Delphine turned smilingly to Charney — “Hope! 
Count Charney, hope!” I have interested the empress 
in you. She has promised to intercede with the 
emperor.” 

De Marsay was astonished. “My daughter has met 
and spoken to our good empress ! ’ ’ 

“You have spoken to her about me — you did this all 
alone! What a brave and noble girl!” exclaimed 
Charney with admiration. 


244 


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‘‘Come to my arms, my daughter, and let me bless 
heaven for the gifts showered on me through you. ’ * 

Once more they embraced, and as they did so 
Charney again seized her hand and kissed it. 

“I can hardly believe all this good news,” resumed 
de Marsay. “How wonderful! How came you to be so 
fortunate as to reach the empress?” 

“I will tell you the whole story later,” replied the 
happy, smiling Delphine; “It was all through a kind 
and upright man who espoused my cause and led me 
to the empress.” 

“What is his name?” cried the old man — “that I 
may bless him?” 

“His name is Baron Dupont — he knows both you 
and Count Charney.” 

“I know no Baron Dupont,” said de Marsay, as he 
vainly searched his memory. 

“I knew a Monsieur Dupont who was Police Intend- 
ant at Paris when I was arrested and sent here — ” 
commented Charney. 

“It is the same!” cried Delphine. “The emperor 
has ennobled him, and he is now his trusted adviser and 
chancellor. ’ ’ 

“Then the empress received you and heard your 
petition,” said de Marsay, for he was burning to hear 
the particulars of the momentous interview. ‘ ‘ She is as 
kind and good as all have said then ? ” he concluded. 

‘ ‘ She is beautiful, noble and queenly, and she has the 
love and adoration of all who surround her; and Oh! 
father, when she heard my story, and that Caterina 
and I had walked from Fenestrelle to Alessandria to 
petition her — ” 

‘ ‘ Caterina ! ’ * said both prisoners together, astounded. 

“What, Mademoiselle,” exclaimed Charney — “you 


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245 


walked nearly eighty miles, and little Caterina, too — 
surely such devotion should appeal to an empress ! ’ ’ 
“And what said the empress when she heard your 
story — ’ ’ the wondering de Marsay inquired ¥ 

4 4 She took me in her arms and kissed me ! ’ * 

4 4 Now heaven be praised that France has such a 
noble woman for its empress,” cried the old man. 

4 4 And oh! my father — see Count Charney — ” and she 
showed them the locket and chain — 4 4 our good empress 
took this from her neck and placed it on mine.” She 
opened the locket — 4 4 See ! the portraits of Napoleon and 
Josephine !” 

4 4 This kindness to you more than repays my years 
of suffering in this prison, ’ ’ said the proud and gratified 
father. 

4 4 And I have not yet told you how our good empress 
took little Caterina in her arms and kissed her, too; 
called her 4 good’ and 4 noble’ for helping me, and she 
put her own bracelet on dear little Caterina ’s arm. ’ ’ 
Charney had been very thoughtful during the last few 
moments. “Napoleon cannot be altogether bad when 
he has the love of such a noble woman as this — ” he 
said, with a tone of conviction in his voice. 

4 4 And Oh! father, the empress insisted on my accept- 
ing a large sum of money, so large that it frightened me. 
She placed a carriage and escort at our disposal and on 
the way back here I stopped at Turin. You see I have 
visited the dressmaker” — here she spread her skirt and 
courteseyed low — 4 4 and the milliner” — and here she in- 
dicated her stylish hat as she swept coquettishly before 
them, displaying her costume to advantage. 4 4 And I 
have still something left to tell. ’ ’ 

4 4 You have ! ’ ’ cried both in tones of equal admiration. 
“Yes — Caterina and I were presented to the em- 


246 


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peror!” She bowed in courtly fashion, enjoying their 
astonishment. 

‘ ‘ To the emperor ! ’ ’ both exclaimed simultaneously. 

“Yes!” continued the smiling Delphine, “to the em- 
peror, at Alessandria. He made me tell my story again, 
just as I had told it to the empress; and Oh! I saw a 
tear in the eye of our noble emperor as I finished my 
tale.” 

“And then?” said de Marsay. 

“Then he took us both by the hand and led us into 
the salon where the great generals, the nobility and the 
ladies of the court were assembled; and the emperor 
leading me, and the empress following with little 
Caterina — we were introduced, and every one was so 
kind. ’ ’ 

“Were you dressed then as you are now, my daugh- 
ter?” 

Delphine laughed heartily — “Oh! No; we wore our 
traveling costumes. I demurred at the idea, but the 
emperor would have it no other way, and when I held 
back, he merely said ‘Pooh’ — and took us off as we 
were. ’ * 

“I shall yet learn to love this Emperor Napoleon — ” 
said Charney in delight. 

“And now for the last news — the best;” and Del- 
phine sobered down. “The emperor finds that a mis- 
take has been made in your case, dear father! He 
remembers your name perfectly, and even described to 
me the appearance of my poor, dead brother, and called 
him a 'brave son of France.' Fouche imprisoned you, 
and now says he has lost the records and does not re- 
member the cause.” 

“Did you see Fouche?” de Marsay inquired. 

“Yes!” . . . . she shuddered. “ He was pointed 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


247 


out to me, but did not come near — he kept away while 
I was there.” 

“So, of course,” she resumed, “you are released — 
here is the order.” She took out the order and handed 
it to her father. “Your estate is restored to you, dear 
father, with all its income earned during your im- 
prisonment, and, in addition, the emperor has ordered 
Fouche to pay you an indemnity of one hundred thou- 
sand francs.” 

‘ ‘ I shall never rest, ’ ’ cried de Marsay, 1 1 until I follow 
the emperor and empress to thank them for their great 
goodness. ’ ’ 

“And, father, you are to pack up at once, as I have 
come to take you away.” 

“Then you are going away — ” Chamey spoke to both 
— “But why should I selfishly regret this? I shall 
more willingly resign myself to my lot now that those 
who befriended me are made happy.” 

“You have now heard all that concerns you, father,” 
said Delphine ; ‘ ‘ will you seek out the governor and pre- 
sent your formal release; then if you will make ready 
to leave, I shall be here awaiting your coming.” 

“Very well, I will do so,” replied de Marsay, as he 
rose to go, “but I am confused over so many glorious 
happenings. ’ ’ 

“The moment I dreaded has come,” spoke Charney, 
as he found he and Delphine were alone. “You are 
about to leave, and I may never see you again. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Cheer up ! ” cried Delphine. ‘ ‘ Long confinement has 
depressed you. This is not a farewell.” 

“I do not understand,” he said; “did you not say 
you had come to take your father away. You are going 
to Paris, your home ; am I not right ? ’ ’ 

“Every one cannot live in Paris — we are going to 
live in Fenestrelle ! ” 


248 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


“What! With wealth and liberty for your father, 
you are going to live in the humble village of Fenes- 
trelle?” 

“Certainly, Count Charney, so as to come and see 
you every day — and did you think we could run off and 
desert you?” 

“I am beginning to sound the depths of your noble 
heart — and yet, would it be right for you to make this 
sacrifice ? ’ ’ 

“I have not had time to consult my father; but he 
lives only for me, and whatever I do, he will think it 
right. I have decided, then, to live in Fenestrelle until 
you are released.” 

“Released!” he replied sorrowfully. 

“And when I add that the empress herself com- 
manded me to do so, you will see that I have decided 
wisely. ’ 9 

Charney now got up and paced the yard. “And so 
there is hope!” he cried. 

“Of course there is hope.” She rose and slapped 
him playfully on the back to cheer him. 

Charney seized her hand. “Oh; Delphine — ” he ex- 
claimed, “If I thought I should ever leave here, free; 
and if my former wealth were mine again, so that I 
could claim you— ho w I should bless you, ’ ’ here he took 
her in his arms — “and kiss you a thousand times a 
day — ” and he kissed her repeatedly. 

Delphine looked up with a little smile — “It appears 
you have some hope,” she said. 

“Yes, I hope! An angel has whispered that word to 
me; and now that I do hope, may I not whisper the 
word ‘angel’ in return.” He bent tenderly over 
her. . . . 

Footsteps were now heard, and when Ludovic en- 


THE-PRISON-FLOWER 


249 


tered he found Mademoiselle de Marsay sitting on the 
bench, while Count Charney was again bending over 
the drooping plant. 

“Nothing but changes,” remarked the jailer — “now 
we are losing good Monsieur de Marsay; but the gov- 
ernor says that Monsieur and Mademoiselle are to pass 
in and out of the fortress as they please — So Count 
Charney, you will not be alone. Ah ! Yes, and I have 
other good news. The gardener sent by the empress 
has arrived, and here he comes.” 

As Ludovic ceased, the one he had referred to en- 
tered. He was a pale, intelligent-looking man. He 
wore a blue blouse and a cap with a white band around 
it. He carried a leather roll under his arm. Bowing 
politely as he entered, he walked straight to the plant 
and commenced his examination of it. Rubbing his 
hands together he walked around the plant, surveying 
it critically. He felt the leaves, gave one or two gentle 
pressures to the stem, and then stooped down to ex- 
amine nearer the root. “Ah ! Um ! Ah ! ” he ejaculated 
at last. “Just in time — the plant still lives.” He 
quickly unrolled his case and spread the contents — 
trowel, shears, knives and sprayers or syringes, &c. — 
neatly in order and close at hand. He turned and ad- 
dressed the waiting Ludovic. “Quick!” he said — as he 
told off his requests on the fingers of one hand — “A 
wheelbarrow of good black earth, a pick, a spade, a can 
of water! The empress commands me to save this 
plant! Mademoiselle! Monsieur!” He bowed pro- 
foundly to each in turn as Ludovic disappeared — “It 
shall be saved.” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


G OVERNOR ST. REMY and his sister Ange- 
lique sat in their reception room enjoying a 
quiet afternoon hour. The governor had on 
his comfortable undress uniform, and his 
sister wore her favorite variegated poplin, with the old- 
fashioned lace cap and streamers she always wore in- 
doors. A light lace shawl or fichu of antique workman- 
ship was thrown around her shoulders. The governor 
was doing desultory work at his desk near the window, 
and Angelique was engaged on her favorite tambour- 
work. 

Angelique addressed her brother. “Genni” — she re- 
marked — “you have not said anything about my mar- 
riage lately.’ ’ 

The general looked up from his work. “Your mar- 
riage — ” he said. “Oh! that is all off, Gelli!” and he 
resumed his study of what was before him. 

“All off!” his sister replied with indignation, “I do 
not see why, when I have not been consulted about it ! ” 
“Well, you may not have been consulted, but it is 
off just the same.” 

Angelique bridled with rebellion in her voice. “It is 
all your fault, brother. If you had put that stubborn 
prisoner in the dungeon the very night you found us 
together — ” and here she looked down — “he would 
have consented, and your sister would have been 
Countess Charney, while you would have had the 
money you need so much for your speculations. Even 
now you could bring it about by a proper display of 
firmness. ’ ’ 

“You do not understand, Gelli!” he addressed her 


250 


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251 


soothingly to allay her anger. “It is too late to put 
Charney under restraint. The empress has commanded 
the fullest privileges for him that have ever been ac- 
corded to any prisoner.” 

‘ ‘ What of that ! ’ ’ she enquired. 

“Surely you would not go counter to the wishes of 
the empress?” 

“I am prepared to go counter to anything to get 
married and settled, brother. I have waited so long — 
1 am afraid this is my last chance.” 

“Never mind, Gelli!” he comforted soothingly. 
‘ ‘ There are others. ‘ There are as good fish in the sea ’ — 
you remember.” 

“We are far from the sea in Fenestrelle, I am afraid, 
my brother. But how comes the empress to take an 
interest in Count Charney?” 

“Did you not know? Mademoiselle de Marsay and 
Caterina walked all the way from here to Marengo. 
They found their way into the presence of the empress, 
and interested her in Monsieur de Marsay and Count 
Charney. ’ ’ 

Angelique raised her hands in horror ; ‘ ‘ Mademoiselle 
de Marsay is a designing creature, and as for that 
Caterina — she is a bold, little baggage.” 

“Ah! Well; it is all over. There is no use in going 
into it. But, by the way, sister, what was the real truth 
about you and Count Charney — how came you to be 
locked in the cell with him?” He placed a chair and 
sat down near her. “There is no one to hear. Confide 
in me; tell me the real truth — I shall look away to 
spare your blushes.” 

“Why, my brother, I offered to tell you that night, 
but you would not listen. It was in this manner — I 
thought you had gone to the village, so for a change I 


252 


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visited the Count, in his courtyard, to tell him I was 
glad he had recovered. I had no sooner arrived than 
I saw you coming, and, fearing your anger, I hid. That 
is all ! ’ ? 

St. Remy arose and laughed heartily. “You have 
seen me persecute the Count for nothing, ” he said, 
“and yet you have made no objection.” 

“Do not blame me, brother, I was carried away with 
the idea of settling down in life.” 

There was quite a long interval of silence, for both 
had abandoned themselves to their thoughts. 

“But tell me,” resumed Angelique, “did not you 
also entertain the idea of marrying and settling down? 
You seemed to follow that Mademoiselle de Marsay 
wherever she went.” 

“Nonsense!” replied St. Remy, as he again took his 
seat at his desk. ‘ ‘ That was my duty as governor, ’ ’ he 
explained, and then he added more truthfully, “she is 
altogether too independent for me, Angelique.” 

“Ah! well, brother, we can console each other. 
Young people are ungrateful. They never know a good 
thing when they see it. ’ ’ 

“I wish you would send for Ludovic, and Caterina 
also, ’ ’ St. Remy requested. 

“I will, my brother,” and she went to do his bidding. 

She soon returned, and as she entered St. Remy ad- 
dressed her — “Have you sent for them?” he asked. 

“Yes, my brother, but why do you want them?” 

“ Well,” replied St. Remy with considerable resolu- 
tion, “lam going to discharge that big, stupid fellow. ’ ’ 

“Discharge him! What for?” she asked in surprise. 

“For not knowing what his wife has been doing— 
and for not stopping her.” 

“Take care, brother!” Angelique admonished, as she 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


253 


turned to go — ‘‘Perhaps the emperor may hear of it.” 

“Pooh! Nonsense! Do you think the emperor can 
concern himself about a trifle like this!” Angelique 
left the room, and the governor turned to the door as 
he concluded, for Ludovic and Caterina were entering. 

“You sent for me, sir!” said Ludovic saluting. 

‘ ‘ And for me, ’ ’ Caterina timidly spoke. 

“Yes, for both of you. Ludovic — you first. I have 
sent for you to tell you that from this day you are dis- 
charged. You have lost your position as jailer of 
Fenestrelle. You may pack up and get off at once.” 

Ludovic was staggered by this unexpected blow. 

‘ ‘ Discharged ! ” he repeated in amazement — ‘ ‘ give up my 
keys and my prisoners?” And he looked around in a 
dazed manner. 

Caterina suspected what was coming, but she kept 
silent for the present, although she looked anxiously 
towards her husband. 

“Do you want to know the reason?” asked St. Remy. 
Do you , Madame Caterina? Then listen and you shall 
hear. 

“There is some mistake.” Ludovic offered, “Have I 
not been faithful?” 

“Be quiet and listen! Where was your wife last 
week ? ’ ’ 

Ludovic looked bewildered, but he replied. “At Fenes* 
strelle.” 

“What was she doing there?” 

“She went to the annual fair.” 

“Where else?” 

“Then she went to see her aunt.” 

“Her aunt! Your wife must have grand relations, 
for she went to see the empress at Marengo.” 

“Empress? Marengo?” said the perplexed jailer, as 


254 


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he looked from St. Remy to his wife. “I do not under- 
stand. ’ ’ 

“I don’t think you do,” said St. Remy, sarcastically; 
‘‘you are a regular blockhead!” 

Caterina’s gathering courage now prompted her, for 
she stepped up to her husband: “Ludovic,” she said, 
“if I have kept quiet until now it was not for want of 
something to say. Governor St. Remy — ” she turned 
on him defiantly — “You are a regular bully!” 

St. Remy took a hasty step back, while Ludovic 
Jooked on astounded. 

“I will not have my husband abused by you,” the 
courageous little wife exclaimed. “Listen, Ludovic — ” 
and here she turned to him — “that poor Mademoiselle de 
Marsay implored me to go with her to Marengo to 
throw herself at the feet of the emperor and beg for 
her father’s release. Yes, Ludovic, I went — ” she drew 
her little figure up proudly. “Together we saw the 
empress and she talked with us for an hour, or more.” 

Ludovic was amazed! ... At last he found his 
tongue. ‘ ‘ The empress talked to you, little Caterina ! ’ ’ 

“Yes! and she took me in her arms and kissed me.” 

‘ ‘ Our good empress kissed my little Caterina ! I shall 
think of this to my dying day.” 

“Yes; Ludovic! and see what the empress gave 
me — ” and here she drew a case from her bosom and 
taking from it the bracelet, she clasped it on her wrist 
and held it before her husband’s astonished gaze. “A 
bracelet,” she continued, “with her portrait, and the 
emperor’s set in it. With her own hand she clasped it 
on my wrist, and then she took me to the emperor and 
he patted my head and pinched my cheek — so there 
now,” she added in laughing defiance. 

Ludovic bent reverently down on one knee and 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


255 


kissed the imperial bracelet on his wife’s arm. Then 
he arose and turned to the stupefied governor. “I care 
not if I am discharged, Governor St. Remy,” he said, 
■“for has not our good empress kissed my little Cater- 
ina ! ’ ’ and he proudly folded his wife in his arms. 

“Ludovic!” said his wife, “will it grieve you to 
leave Fenestrelle? . . . Then stay!” 

“Stay!” repeated Ludovic, “what do you mean?” 

“Yes,” exclaimed St. Remy, “what do you mean?” 

“I was thinking — ” she said insinuatingly to the 
governor — “that if the emperor, or the empress, or even 
Baron Dupont knew you had threatened to punish 
Mademoiselle’s father if she did not marry you — ” 

“What!” exclaimed the startled governor, “did she 
tell you?” 

“No! not she. I heard you myself. I keep my eyes 
open, and my ears too.” 

St. Remy now thought it better policy to be cau- 
tious, and after a moment he said, “Well, perhaps I 
was hasty, Ludovic ; you can stay on. ’ ’ 

“Then I am not discharged!” the jailer exclaimed 
with joy. 

“No ! Certainly not — and Ludovic ; we’ll forget what 
has just been said, and everything will go on just the 
same as usual.” 

“I am learning that my little Caterina is a clever 
little woman,” thought Ludovic to himself, and the 
governor as he walked to his desk had a similar idea. 
“Yes!” he thought, “that little woman is no fool — she 
knows a thing or two.” 

Mademoiselle Angelique now returned, and as she 
drew near Ludovic he pointed proudly to Caterina, as 
he repeated, “She has been kissed by the empress,” 
and as he laughed and saluted, he concluded, “the em- 
peror pinched her cheek!” 


256 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


Angelique completely ignored Ludovic — she took no 
notice of his remarks. Going to Caterina she addressed 
her in the stiff manner she unconsciously assumed when 
speaking to those below her; more particularly when 
they were women. “I am sorry, Madame Caterina, 
that we are to part” — here she spoke meaningly and 
with a superior, pitying air — “but when women go on 
a secret journey . . . .” 

Caterina held up her hands in pretended surprise as 
she interrupted, “Ah! Mademoiselle St. Remy, you are 
sly. You are going to run off and leave us — you are 
going to get married — ” and she laughed immoder- 
ately. 

Angelique turned to St. Remy. “Brother,” she en- 
quired, “am I to be insulted?” 

“Hush!” replied the governor. “It is all a mistake. 
These good people stay — I will explain later.” 

To the surprise of St. Remy and his sister a servant 
now entered to announce the arrival of visitors, and as 
they turned to hear of it they were astonished to see a 
number of people entering by the door leading from the 
main hall. Baron Dupont and Yoyarde came first, and 
they were followed by Monsieur de Marsay and his 
daughter Delphine. Nor were these all, for the well- 
known Renardeau now entered accompanied by old 
Charles, Monsieur Trouville and Mademoiselle Marie 
Leclair. A general interchange of greetings now took 
place. Ludovic and Caterina were quietly withdraw- 
ing, but Yoyarde interposed and spoke to St. Remy, 
who requested them to remain. The governor greeted 
de Marsay and his daughter effusively. The former 
tower-prisoner soon joined Yoyarde, Ludovic and 
Caterina, while Delphine crossed over to where Baron 
Dupont stood talking to Marie, old Charles, Renardeau 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


257 


and Trouville ; for Mademoiselle Angelique had been 
requested to make a general introduction of those who 
had not met before. 

But Marie ran and threw her arms around the lovely 
Delphine. “Ah! Mademoiselle Delphine, ,, she cried, 
‘ ‘ Cousin Charney told me all about you — I know I shall 
love you;” and she kissed her again and again. 
Renardeau and old Charles now joined them, and soon 
Baron Dupont and Trouville were added to the happy 
group. 

Trouville had apparently used his time in Paris to 
good advantage, for he appeared to be on the best of 
terms with Marie. His nobility of character and de- 
votion to Charney had appealed to the ardent imagina- 
tion of the young girl from the first; while Marie’s 
beauty, her sweet disposition and gentle manner had 
charmed Trouville from the very day they first met on 
the journey from Fenestrelle to Paris with Renardeau 
and old Charles. 

From the glances of interest exchanged between 
Baron Dupont, Renardeau and old Charles, it was evi- 
dent they looked with favor on this growing attachment 
between the young people they had all learned to love 
so well. 

“This is a pleasant surprise,” welcomed the governor 
as he bowed effusively to all. 

Baron Dupont bowed in acknowledgment. He turned 
to Yoyarde, requesting him to deliver his special missive 
to the governor. 

St. Remy received it from the hands of the imperial 
courier, but he trembled nervously and took some time 
to open it. “Ah!” he remarked, “His Majesty’s spe- 
cial warrant .... A pardon ! ” he exclaimed with 
surprise. 


258 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


“Yes, Governor St. Remy. It is no secret,” said 
Baron Dupont — “It is a pardon for Count Charney.” 

Delphine ran to Caterina and put her arms around 
her. 

“I am afraid the emperor has been too hasty/ ’ said 
the mortified governor. 

“Sir!” exclaimed Baron Dupont haughtily, “would 
you criticise your emperor? — those who do so stand on 
slippery ground!” 

“No! No!” exclaimed St. Remy. “I did not mean 
that — hut I lately sent seditious and incriminating 
documents found in Count Charney ’s cell. The em- 
peror cannot have seen them yet.” 

“Let me enlighten you,” replied Baron Dupont. 
‘ ‘ The documents you sent to the Governor of Piedmont 
were at once forwarded by him to Fouche, the Minister 
of Police. The clever Fouche — the great Fouche, could 
make nothing of them, and believing they concealed an- 
other desperate plot against the life of his majesty, he 
forwarded them for the emperor’s inspection.” 

“And what said his majesty?” St. Remy inquired 
eagerly. 

“He laughed heartily when he saw them.” 

“How, sir; the emperor laughs at treason!” ex- 
claimed the astonished governor. 

“Yes, the emperor laughed, the whole Court laughed 
and now all France laughs — the handkerchiefs you 
seized had nothing on them but harmless notes on 
botany, and some crude sketches of plant formation.” 

1 1 That damnable plant ! ’ ’ exclaimed St. Remy to him- 
self as he turned aside to hide his confusion. 

“Yes,” the Baron continued, as a smile passed over 
the faces of all. “You and Fouche are being laughed at 
from one end of France to the other. He is no longer 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


259 


Minister of Police, for a minister who becomes the sub- 
ject of general laughter and ridicule has ceased to be 
useful — the emperor has dismissed him. ’ ’ 

Angelique now went anxiously to St. Remy, and, 
drawing him to one side, she spoke low, 4 ‘Oh, brother, 
the emperor may dismiss you. You must hasten after 
him tomorrow and make an apology for being such a 
blockhead.” 

“I’ll go,” he answered ruefully, as he realized to the 
full extent the awkward situation his stupidity had 
caused — “but he’ll call me worse names than that. The 
emperor can be both pointed and blunt.” 

“Oh; well, never mind,” she consoled — “What do 
a few angry words mean if you can keep your posi- 
tion V ’ ’ 

Ludovic had previously been sent to inform Charney 
of the happy turn in his affairs, and the Count ’s friends 
now eagerly awaited his arrival. 

“Ah! Baron Dupont,” said Delphine, as she took 
that worthy man aside, “I can never forget your kind- 
ness ! Your name shall be a household word — a shrine 
at which we shall all worship.” 

“My dear Mademoiselle,” he replied — touched with 
the fervour of her enthusiasm — “It is your own good- 
ness and merit that have brought about all this.” 

“I value your good opinion, Baron Dupont — ” she 
said — ‘ ‘ but Oh ! how I long to thank the emperor and 
empress for their great kindness.” 

“You shall have an opportunity soon, Mademoiselle; 
Monsieur Yoyarde will tell you about it, later on.” 

But a commotion was now visible, for Charney ’s 
friends suddenly rushed to the door, and in a moment 
the Count was receiving the embraces and smiling con- 
gratulations of all. Delphine was the first, for every 


260 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


one felt she had earned this privilege. Her tender 
welcome drew from Charney a look of love, gratitude 
and devotion that caused the color to play on her lovely 
face. Dear old Charles with his snowy hair, and still 
erect form, threw himself in the arms of his beloved 
master, and the happiness of heaven was visible on his 
face as he smiled through his tears. And the fair and 
beautiful Marie, whose early budding womanhood was 
beginning to be warmed by the gentle influence of love 
— her greeting was the same as of yore, for again her 
arms were around Charney, her warm kisses were his, 
and he felt indeed that as cousins they should ever be 
dear to each other in the future. And Charney ’s com- 
panion in imprisonment, the former occupant of the 
tower — his welcome was sympathetic and glad, for he, 
too, had known the misery and horror of imprisonment 
without hope. And Trouville, to whom the emperor 
had given a commission in the imperial guard as a re- 
ward for fidelity — Renardeau, whose ability had gath- 
ered the evidence that had influenced Napoleon in his 
clemency — Baron Dupont, whose aid had brought about 
such happy results; Voyarde, with his sympathetic 
greeting — Ludovic, with his kind heart, and little 
Caterina with her devotion .... all pressed 
around the gratified Charney and nearly overwhelmed 
him with their joy. Even St. Remy and Angelique 
managed to speak a few formal words of congratu- 
lation. 

And now an unexpected diversion was created, for 
Ludovic, who had previously slipped away, unnoticed, 
here returned in company with the gardener who had 
been sent by Josephine to care for the plant, and be- 
tween them they carried a precious burden — Charney ’s 
plant, verdant and beautiful and with a mass of glori- 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


261 


ous bloom crowning its stately head. Just as Charney 
and his friends surrounded the beloved plant with cries 
of joy and admiration, a sound was plainly heard as of 
carriages dashing up to the entrance of the fortress. 

Silence prevailed as all listened for a moment, and 
then the sound of rolling drums and ringing bugles was 
clearly heard, followed by the rumbling of grounded 
arms as horses and vehicles dashed into the main court- 
yard just outside the governor’s quarters. 

“What!” cried St. Remy, in terrified astonishment, 
“the royal salute — impossible!” 

The sound of many footsteps and of soldiers with 
their regular tread now came clearly from the corridor 
below. Baron Dupont made a signal to Voyarde, and 
together they stepped to the main doorway and held 
back the portieres between them. Soldiers of the im- 
perial guard now lined the outer hall, and to the sur- 
prise of the governor, who stood motionless, General 
Montaubun entered, followed by Colonels Fleury and 
Delorme. St. Remy hastily stepped up to Montaubun, 
and just as he did so the Empress Josephine appeared 
in the entrance with her ladies and attendants, and to 
the final roll of the drums, the dying cadence of the 
bugles and the general salute of the guard, the imperial 
party entered. 

“Long live the empress!” cried all as they bowed low 
in love and devotion. 

Josephine advanced to the center of the room, and 
the imperial party formed behind her in a semicircle. 
Delphine and Caterina ran and threw themselves at 
the feet of the gracious empress, who assisted them to 
rise — giving each a hand to kiss as she did so, while St. 
Remy and Angelique looked on with profound astonish- 
ment. 


262 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


Charney and de Marsay stood apart, showing great 
emotion at the sight of the empress about whom they 
had heard so much, and to whom they were so anxious 
to express their gratitude. 

Josephine spoke. “Our coming has taken these good 
people by surprise, Baron Dupont. We have stolen a 
few hours to perform a pleasing duty. Our equipage 
waits without, as we are on our way to join the emperor 
in Paris. You may present to us Count de Charney 
and Monsieur de Marsay.’ ’ 

Baron Dupont advanced, leading up the former 
prisoners. The empress extended her hand and each 
kissed it reverently. Their emotion was great, for they 
were unable to speak a word. 

“Come, gentlemen/ ’ said the empress, touched with 
their devotion. “We understand your emotion — your 
gratitude. ’ ’ 

De Marsay put his hand to his heart — “We cannot 
express — ” he said .... He could go no further. 

Charney bowed reverently as he spoke. “We can 
only say that gratitude and devotion will fill our hearts 
while life endures.” 

Both were now retiring when the empress again 
spoke : 

“Draw near, Monsieur de Marsay; we would speak 
with you.” 

“With me, your Majesty?” said de Marsay as he ad- 
vanced in wonder. After a short conversation carried 
on in a low tone, while the others discreetly withdrew 
a short distance, de Marsay now spoke aloud and with 
joy, as he exclaimed, “Your Majesty it is the wish of 
my heart.” 

“Come hither, Mademoiselle Delphine,” now spoke 
the gracious Josephine. “You see we can pronounce 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


263 


your name — if not with so much sweetness as some one 
we know of.” 

Delphine now advanced, showing her surprise. 
Again a conversation was carried on in low tones, and 
at its close the beautiful Delphine was observed to cast 
a shy glance in the direction where Charney stood, all 
unconscious of the fact that he was the subject of the 
conversation. 

“Send hither the Count de Charney,” now spoke the 
good Josephine in tones of gentle command. 

Charney looked up in surprise as Baron Dupont 
advanced to lead him to the empress. 

“Count Charney,” said the noble empress, as she put 
the blushing Delphine ’s hand in his, “we present to you 
a noble heart — let your love and cherishment form a 
fitting setting for such a priceless jewel.” 

Charney flushed with pride and joy as he drew Del- 
phine to his side. He heard a cry. It was Caterina, 
who now ran up to Delphine and seized her hand. 

“Oh! Mademoiselle Delphine!” cried the little 
Caterina, “I cannot leave you,” and she appeared 
ready to burst into tears. 

‘ ‘ Come hither ! Madame Caterina, ’ ’ kindly spoke the 
empress, and she took the hand of the little wife in 
hers. “Count Charney, and you Mademoiselle” — con- 
tinued Josephine — “we can read a wish in your eyes — • 
speak freely.” 

Charney hastily whispered to Delphine, and as he 
looked up, he replied, “Your Majesty, if we could take 
the good Ludovic, to live with us — ” 

“And the dear little Caterina,” added Delphine, as 
she stepped forward and took her hand, while Ludovic 
advanced at the same moment at a signal from the 
empress and placed his arm around the waist of his 
good little wife. 


264 


THE PRISON-FLOWER 


“If Governor St. Remy will spare them?” suggested 
Charney. 

“We will try and get along without them,” spoke 
Angelique in assumed tones of sublime resignation. 

1 ‘ Oh, willingly ! ’ ’ spoke the governor with an unmis- 
takable accent of gladness in his voice that caused 
some to smile. “I mean reluctantly/’ he corrected, as 
Angelique nudged him, “but if her Majesty com- 
mands. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Such is our wish, ’ ’ said the empress. 

“And our duties will be?” enquired the kind Ludo- 
vic, as he held little Caterina’s hand. 

“And their duties will be?” repeated Charney, as 
he turned to the lovely and adorable Delphine — 

Josephine advanced to the blooming plant whose 
companionship had cheered the lonely hours of Char- 
ney ’s captivity. She bent over it for a moment to 
inhale its refreshing fragrance. Then, as she looked up 
with a smile, the noble empress replied: 

“They will care for the prison-flower!” 





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MAY 3 1912 


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Deacidified using the Boc 
Neutralizing Agent: Magr 
Treatment Date: 



PRESERVATION 


111 Thnmcnn Pari 











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